


The Warlock's Apprentice

by Creeptozoologist



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Body Horror, Choking, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Injury, Mentor Technoblade, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, Team as Family, Techno is a pig, Tommy is chaos incarnate, Tubbo is a beekeeper, its very minor but you gotta be careful, they are best friends your honour, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creeptozoologist/pseuds/Creeptozoologist
Summary: Some kids are just born angry. Some kids are born so angry that they'll burn themselves up from the inside out if they're left on their own, and they'll take anyone around them with them. But sometimes those kids have people to walk with them through that rage.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 136
Kudos: 828





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> saw someone talking about how Tommy brings war wherever he goes and i was like huh. interesting. sounds like a p poggers curse

Tommy woke up sure that he had forgotten something, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what. The tiny window above his bed let in the golden light of a barely risen sun, and he twisted his face at the brightness of it. He was getting sick of this “rise with the sun” bull-

_SHIT._

Scrambling out of bed, he pulled on his red tunic as quick as he could over his sleep shirt, hopping on one leg as he tried to put his boots on and make his way up the stairs to the ground floor at the same time. Running down the hall, he grabbed his sword and shield before bursting out the front door. Technoblade was waiting for him at the end of the grounds, disapproving scowl more prominent than usual.

“You’re late.”

Techno’s tone was flat as ever, but the way he seemed to re-test the weight of the sword in his hands as he looked him up and down had Tommy laughing nervously.

“Yeah, about that, big man, I was ready to leave like ten minutes ago, it was just- ehm-” Techno’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

The piglin snorted and turned, walking to the cleared patch of sand that was reserved for early morning training. “Let’s go, I’m in the mood to beat up a child.”

Tommy followed him quickly as he could, widening his stance and raising his shield. Both were using iron swords, the diamond reserved for real battle, but even practicing with simple wood or stone was considered an insult. Tommy personally thought he wouldn’t mind not fearing for his life every time they trained, but Techno always used that as an excuse to tell him to practice more every time he brought it up, so he kept it to himself. He tried to size up his opponent for the thousandth time, noting that their height difference was almost non-existent now, and reminded himself to pay attention to how he seemed to be favouring his left leg after their training yesterday, hoping it could lead to a weakening of his form as he tired.

Tommy, as always, was the one to make the first move. Darting forward, he feigned left before swinging his sword down towards Techno’s right, hearing the ever-disappointing _thunk_ of iron on wood as he was blocked, Techno charging his shield away from himself to break Tommy’s stance and aim a slash at the younger’s sword-arm. 

Unable to raise his shield in time, Tommy darted back into his own space, righting his stance to close the opening, thankful his sword hadn’t gotten stuck in the shield. Techno took this opportunity to step forward, shield lowered just enough for him to bring his sword down with enough momentum to send Tommy stumbling back, the sharp clang setting his ears ringing.

Behind his tusks, Tommy could see the sharp grin that split Techno’s face as he dropped his shield. _Shit shit shit shit._ Watching the piglin advance made his stomach sink, knowing that bending to pick the shield back up would be a death sentence in battle, and no picknick in training, either. Panicking and hoping it didn’t show, he gripped his sword in two hands now, charging with raised arms and anticipating the way Techno raised his shield to meet the blow, but not the hoof which met his exposed stomach, kicking him to the ground, where it was easy for the piglin to press his _ow ow very sharp_ \- sword to his throat.

Techno hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“That one didn’t count, right, Blade?” he asked as Techno bent down to help him to his feet, “just a practice round?”

“All training is just a ‘practice round’, Tommy, that’s kinda the whole point.” Techno handed him a waterskin, his waterskin, he realised, as he noticed he had forgotten his own in the hurry to make it to practice before breakfast.

“Yeah but that was like, a practice practice.” he insisted, mostly out of habit and stubbornness.

“Sure. In that case, the three rounds start now.”

Tommy groaned as he realised he had cheated himself into _more_ training. And with that, the fighting resumed.

-

Both of them were panting by the time the sun was fully over the horizon, the village clocktower striking seven down in the valley. Tommy was panting significantly harder, but tiring the Blade at all was an achievement, in his opinion.

“You’re getting better,” Techno told him on their way back to the house. Tommy beamed at the praise.

“But you’re still reckless. Running at me without a shield? That’s stupid. Stupid gets you killed.”

“Well I wasn’t about to retreat, was I? Blood for the Blood God! Not, not- caution for the retreat god, or whatever.”

Techno rolls his eyes at the misuse of the battle cry, smacking the younger upside the head without looking.

“Ow!”

“Part of fighting is knowing when you’re beat. No shame in keeping yourself alive, dumbass.” Techno decided not to comment on the way Tommy mimed the words as he said them, opening the door and ushering the kid in before bolting it.

“Spuds for breakfast today, big man?” he asked, strutting down the hall like he owns the place.

“You know my diet consists of more than potatoes, right? You know I need protein? Minerals?”

“You don’t _grow_ more than potatoes,” he snarked, walking backwards and pushing open the tiny kitchen door with his shoulder.

“What else am I supposed to grow? The soil up here is trash!” he yelled, voice raising in pitch as he defended himself.

“You could grow bees. Tubbo grows bees.” He shrugs, lifting the lid from the water barrel and filling his mug, rather than sticking his head in like he would if he were unobserved.

“You don’t gro- a’ight I’m out.” Techno says, making no move to actually _be_ out, instead filling his own mug and chugging it. “Never mind training, we need to send you back to school.”

Tommy pulled a face and drank his own water, waving an arm as if to shoo away the very idea. “I’m too cool for school, big T, they told me ‘Tommy, Tommy you’re so cool, there’s nothing left for us to teach you Tommy that you don’t already know with your huge brain’.”

Techno looked unamused.

“Yeah, okay, shut up. You didn’t even go to school.”

Techno shook his head as he leaned against the table, picking up an apple and polishing it on his sleeve. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I’m smarter than you.”

Tommy huffed and caught an apple as Techno threw it to him, with minimal fumbling, might he add.

He kind of wished he knew more about the man that was going to be training him for what may or may not be the rest of his life. He bit into the apple with a satisfying crunch, and watched his mentor as he chewed.

He knew Techno wasn’t human- that much was obvious, from his tusks to his hooves to his weirdly piercing eyes, but he had no idea what a piglin even was until Techno had mentioned it in passing, and had been too scared of offending him to ask anything beyond that, back in the early days. It’s almost funny to him now. Being scared of offending the Blade? Younger-Tommy was an idiot. But now he had known him too long to ask without being weird, and he wasn’t about to go and ask Wilbur or Phil.

He didn’t even know why he had taken him on, really. Techno always shut him down when he asked. All he knew was that he was somehow on the Blood God’s good side, and Techno seemed to have a vested interest in keeping it that way.

-

Techno was dozing in his potato farm when he heard the deadbolt being unlocked, and the quick footsteps of someone abandoning their studies. Opening one eye from where he was leaning against the composter, he watched as Tommy gave him a salute before twisting and running down the path towards the village, yelling “Back by dinner!” over his shoulder.

He was pretty sure he’d told the kid to copy out a full chapter of an enchanted book of Mending, and he was even more sure that it couldn’t have only taken an hour. He chuffed quietly to himself and went back to his potatoes.

-

The village was almost a town, Tommy was pretty sure, though Phil had once tried to explain that the difference had more to do with how a place was governed than population. He was pretty sure he had stopped listening after that, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. The main takeaway was that the town had everything your average sixteen year old could need, but was small enough that pretty much everyone knew about the weird warlock who lived above the valley, and the weird child that had been sent up into his care six years ago. Tommy thought seeming like a mystery was pretty cool, actually, though Wilbur had told him that wearing a weird shirt was enough to be seen as a mystery in this village, which he took great offence to.

But that wasn’t the point, right now, because he was just passing through. He dashed through the streets on spindly legs, passing the blacksmith’s and tanner’s and the square where the market was held on Sundays, making sure he didn’t make eye contact with anyone who could take it the wrong way (because from him, _everyone_ took it the wrong way). He didn’t mind the trek to Tubbo’s bee farm, as it usually gave him the chance to pick up a few bits and pieces, but today, he was mostly in a hurry to see his friend.

Said friend was fully suited up when he arrived at the far gate of the field, net obscuring his face from view, but Tommy knew he was smiling when he bounced on the balls of his feet as he waved, careful not to disturb the bees. Tommy waved back in more exuberant motions, then mouthed _when you done?_ as obviously as he could over such a distance, tapping his wrist to get his point across. Tubbo tilted his head side to side before holding up a single finger, followed by a thumbs up. Tommy returned the gesture, and sprinted to the small cottage his friend lived in, pulling out his ring of keys and letting himself in.

The tiny, two-room cottage always seemed cosier than the cold cobble walls of his own room, and he took the time to breathe in and enjoy the wooden walls, wooden floors, and the warm wool rugs and blankets that seemed to cover every surface, before sitting down on the couch and leaning his head back, tapping his leg to some unnameable tune.

Barely five minutes later, Tubbo opened the door and collapsed down next to him, the shorter boy letting out a little _oof_ as his back hit the seat.

“Worn yourself out, big T?” he asked, smirking at the way the beekeepers uniform made his friends head look tiny in comparison to his body.

“Not at all, big T,” Tubbo replied, before leaning forward and pulling the huge canvas shirt off, leaving him in his usual green shirt. “Bit hot though, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t talk about the weather, Tubbo, you sound like a bloody old man.”

The brunette threw the shirt at him with a laugh. “It is though! _You_ try beekeeping in July!”

Tommy elbowed him in the side, batting away the offending object. “I don’t think I will, man, I’m too busy trying to have _fun_ in the summer.”

“Yeah? Come on then.” Tubbo grinned, kicking off the thick white canvas pants, and kicking open the door. “Last one to the lake is a bitch!”

“That’s my line, bitch!” Tommy called after him, breaking into a sprint and taking over Tubbo.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, I don’t speak BITCH!”

Shrieks of indignation were all he heard after that, both of them running full pelt towards the lake that split the village from the surrounding forest. As expected, Tommy wins, though Tubbo protests that it was close.

“You have the height advantage! I was basically sabotaged from the beginning.”

“But you got a head start, which means I won fair and square.”

“I mean, I guess you win fair and square either way, since you can’t really control your height…” Tubbo squints in thought for a moment, before turning back to look at Tommy. “Just wait for my growth spurt, then it’s over for you.”

Tommy laughs at that, loud and happy to be with his best friend. “You keep telling yourself that, Tubbo.”

They sit in silence for a moment, looking at the sky. Tommy notices a cloud that looks kind of like a stork, and points it out. Tubbo insists it’s a pair of shears.

“Weren’t you supposed to be working today too? Prep for the market tomorrow?” Tubbo asks, in the kind of voice that sounds too much like he doesn’t care to be real.

Tommy shifts and keeps looking at the sky, blinking at the enormity of it. “We’re ehm. We’re skipping the market tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Tubbo tries not to sound disappointed, “small yield, or?”

“You know Techno would rather die than have anything other than the best potato farm in the world, Tubbo, I think a small yield would kill him.” Tommy jokes weakly. He looks down to the lake in front of them. “Wilbur and Phil are due home tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tubbo says.

“Yeah,” Tommy draws out the word in the way he does when he’s reluctant to keep talking. “When they come back, they usually have, um. They’re usually pretty tired. Need taking care of, the big babies.”

Tubbo bumps his shoulder against Tommy’s, smiling when Tommy bumps him back. “Good thing they have you then, yeah?”

Tommy finally makes eye contact with him, and the sincerity in Tubbo’s face forces a smile out of him. “Yeah,” he says. “Lucky bastards.”


	2. Chapter Two

Tommy is home for dinner, as promised, and Techno is standing over the kitchen bench, peeling potatoes with a knife that could probably take the kid’s arm off. He gestures vaguely at a parcel of carrots next to him, murmuring to Tommy to “get peeling.”

“You planning on feeding the whole fuckin town, big man?” the kid asks, and Techno grunts.

“Yeah, I’m really tapping into that ‘good will to your fellow man’ thing lately,” he says, “Probably the result of a head injury.”

“Careless in your old age, Blade?”

“I will kill you without hesitation.” Techno tells him, the violent threat and placid look that comes from peeling potatoes in loose pyjamas forcing a high-pitched laugh out of Tommy as he picks up the first carrot and slices the green stems away.

They stand there for a while, exchanging mild banter and bullying that makes Tommy screech and Techno’s voice raise in pitch as he defends himself, the repetitive task calming for both of them.

Eventually, Techno steps away from the bench and towards the pot simmering on the fire, the mild broth smelling of brine and assorted herbs that he’s not actually sure will go together, but they’re definitely edible, and that’s good enough for him. He empties the chopped potatoes into the soup, Tommy following suit with his own root vegetables, washed and sliced. Handing Tommy the towel that had been thrown over his shoulder, Techno watches as the kid wipes his hands of carrot juice and splashed broth, before taking the rag back and doing the same, and then wiping down the bench.

“Aw, fuck, we didn’t use cutting boards.”

Techno raises his eyebrows and looks down at the benches, noticing that yes, they were significantly more sliced up than before. “Oops.”

“Phil’s gonna be on your back for that one.”

“Ehhh, he won’t notice.”

Both of them went quiet for a moment at the mention of the older man, each of them privately knowing that they were right, and hoping it wasn’t going to be something deadly that kept him distracted from their poor kitchen etiquette.

“You have the first aid kit ready?” Tommy asks, and the way the kid tries to sound flat and curious reminds Techno of when he was young, new to life under his tutelage, looking up at him like he was someone who always knew the right thing to do. It tugged on his heart strings, the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, I’ll bring it in here for when they arrive.”

“Do you think they’ll be late again?”

“Nah. They know it worries you.” Techno smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring, and from the way Tommy’s shoulders relax, he thinks it worked.

“I don’t _worry_ , that’s your guys’ job.” Tommy retorted, though his smile was small and genuine when he looked away.

“Whatever you say, man.” He says, looking out the window on the far wall, and noticing that the sky is already dark. He knows neither of them will sleep until they see their brothers home safe. “You want to come with?”

Tommy nods slowly, turning back to Techno with his usual broad grin. “Yeah, lets go fuck up some skeletons.”

-

And fuck up skeletons they do. Techno has to admit, the kid is coming along well. He had always been good with a sword- not that he could ever tell him that- but now he moved like an expert, swift as Technoblade and almost as deadly, separating zombie heads from zombie shoulders with well-placed swings that Techno had drilled into him for the past six years. He can’t help but feel pride settle in the pit of his chest, warm and glowing as he watches his apprentice, his little brother, use the skills he worked hard to teach him.

He yanks his sword out of a zombie’s stomach with a sickening _squelch_ , grin wide as he calls out to the darkness.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

“Skulls for the Skull Throne!” is the immediate reply, swiftly followed by the sound of clattering bones from Tommy’s side of the clearing. They had strayed from the path slightly when Techno had had to pull Tommy down by the scruff of his neck, narrowly avoiding an arrow which proceeded to embed itself in a patch of air where the child’s head had been moments prior, and they had both silently decided to let off some steam on the usually-inconsequential mob.

“Nice work not getting fatally injured,” Techno says, deciding that that’s as close to a compliment as he is willing to stray for the kid’s work this evening. “Dust yourself off, lets go.”

Tommy beams at the praise, despite Techno’s best efforts. “Think they’ll be here soon?”

Techno squints at the horizon, noticing that the moon is close to setting, but the dawn is yet to turn the sky pink. “Give it an hour, I think. And an hour after that before you start worrying.”

“For the last time, man, I don’t _worry_ -”

“Boys!”

Both men turned their heads to the voice, grins splitting their faces as they saw Phil, arm raised in greeting as he walked towards them, Wilbur in tow.

Tommy was the first to move.

“Phil! We didn’t expect you for like an hour, big P!”

Phil opens his arms to catch Tommy as he barrels into him, hugging him tightly before the child moves on to giving Wilbur the same treatment, a reluctant smile on the taller man’s face.

“The job went really well, and the journey home was smooth as hell.” Phil looks up at Techno, who only resists a little bit when he pulls him into a bone crushing hug. “Had to get home and make sure you hadn’t set the temple on fire, yeah?”

“As if we would-” Techno starts, before stiffening in Phil’s hold. “Aw, God, Tommy- _the stew._ ”

Tommy balked, looking rapidly between Will and Phil with wide eyes before breaking into a high, nervous laugh. “Uhhhh, race you home?”

-

The stew was fine, actually. The broth seemed to keep it from burning, and if the carrots and potatoes were a bit mushy from being overcooked, but still edible. If nothing else, Phil was glad that their home was not literally burned down.

As Techno was taking the dishes to the sink to wash tomorrow, Phil shifted in his seat. Tommy noticed the way he flinched, and it was almost painful, watching the way concern twisted the youngest’s features so suddenly before masking itself. He nodded his head as Phil’s side.

“Do you want me to get the kit, big man?”

Phil contemplates saying no, waiting to tend to their wounds once the kid is asleep, but almost feels bad for even considering babying him like that. He doesn’t deserve being lied to, even for his own protection.

“If you don’t mind, mate.”

Tommy nods with a weak smile, and doesn’t even have to go on his tip-toes to reach the kit that’s been stored on the top shelf on the left of the fireplace. He opens the satchel with practiced movements, unloading the bandages, ointments, and with a grimace, needle and thread.

“It’s just some scrapes,” he reassures him. “Just gotta clean ‘em out and seal ‘em up.” He reaches to take the supplies, but Tommy bats his hands away.

“I can do it, I’ve had enough practice.”

“Didn’t we leave you here to train to prevent that?”

“Just call it babysitting man, it’s what we’re all thinking” Techno snorts, entering the room without his usual cloak and crown, tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Hey!”

“Quiet, child.”

Phil snorts and shakes his head, moving as little as possible while he lifts his robes to reveal a ribcage littered with angry purple bruises and tiny scrapes, already scabbing over.

Tommy doesn’t even flinch, pouring the alcohol onto a clean cloth and dabbing at the scabs. Phil looks on calmly, the sting not enough to phase him, just watching the kid work. He turns to look at Techno, smiling at the tired but calm expression hidden behind the tusks.

“How’s Wilbur?”

“Grumpy phase,” Techno chuffs. “he was napping when I left.”

Phil smiled. Wilbur was known to be in a right mood right after he got back from a job, his energy drained and in need of a proper rest in his own bed to recharge. Phil was pretty sure he felt something similar, but it leaned more in the direction of needing to be around people- _his_ people. He needed time to himself, sure, but mostly he just wanted to talk to Tommy and Techno about Tommy’s training, and the farm, and whatever that nice kid Tubbo was up to. The best part was always the fact that they were happy to share.

Techno sat hunched over at the chair to Phil’s left, a watchful eye on Tommy’s hands as he rubbed ointment on the purpled skin, looking away as he saw that the injuries were minor and well within Tommy’s expertise. Tommy chattered away as he completed the task, occasionally prompted by Phil’s questions, and Techno’s light bullying. The beginnings of sunrise turned the whole room gold. It was nice. 

Phil was glad to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one lol


	3. Chapter Three

Wilbur woke with a groan, yellow light streaming in through the tiny window at the foot of his bed. Outside, he could hear the clanging of sword on sword and sword on shield, punctuated by taunts and laughter. Groaning louder, he rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow, giving himself the daily pep talk that it took to get out of bed.

Making his way out into the hallway, he scooped an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table before swanning his way out the house and to the training grounds, where his family were gathered, though all of them seemed to be taking a break at the moment.

“Wilbur!” Tommy exclaimed from where he sat, raising his water pouch in greeting. “We beat Techno!”

The accused rolls his eyes and leans further back on his haunches, giving Wilbur a flat look. “I couldn’t win a 2v1 battle with the best trained fighters in fifty miles. Truly, the only explanation is that I was a fraud all along.”

Wilbur leaned down to pat the warrior’s shoulder condescendingly. “It’s okay Techno, we still love you even if you’re a failure.”

“You think I’m the best?” Tommy cajoled, leaning into Techno’s space.

“The best _trained,_ I said. Don’t forget who did the training.”

Tommy holds Techno’s gaze and grins. “Can’t wait to blow up, so I can act like I don’t know nobody,” he snarks, over-enunciating every word until all of them are laughing, the wheezing joy of it all leaving Wilbur’s chest feeling light in the warm afternoon sun.

-

“How did the quest go?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, resituating the sack he was carrying over his shoulder as they made their way down the valley later that day, verging on evening. “Don’t call it a quest, Tommy, you make us sound like fucking LARPers.”

“That’s literally what it is though,” Tommy pointed out, his own cargo held tightly in his arms. “Fighting monsters ‘n that.”

“Yeah, but we get paid for it, we’re not doing it out of the goodness of our hearts. It’s just like any other job.”

Tommy scowled. “Cooler than any other job, though.”

“That’s just because I’m involved. Immediately makes any profession I take on of the upmost importance.”

Tommy groaned and threw his head back, scowl deepening as he listened to the taller man talk out of his arse. “You’re avoiding the question, Wilbur!” he whined, and Wilbur chuckled as he kept walking, picking up his pace so Tommy had to hurry to catch up.

“What did you do? Where did you go?”

Wilbur smiled. Tommy was almost always like this after one of them came back from a job, even more so when more than one of them had to leave. He had anticipated the questioning on the walk to the village, and he honestly couldn’t say he minded it. He understood it. None of them ever allowed Tommy to know where they were going until they got back- there was always the chance he would try to follow them otherwise.

“There was a cave system infested with skeletons. Kept killing miners and blacksmiths, who came looking for the miners.”

“You can do better than that.”

Wilbur grinned, and felt himself slip into his ‘story voice’, as Tommy had dubbed it when he was young enough to not realise it was a stupid name.

“The caves were deep and black and horrible, and the rattling of bones echoed through the cavernous halls until you were convinced that if you turned around, you’d be met with an arrow to the throat.” Wilbur kept his eyes straight ahead, but he couldn’t help the grin that split his face as he saw Tommy leaning in out of the corner of his eye, seemingly hooked on every word. There was a reason it was always him he asked for the stories of their adventures, and he couldn’t help the pride that lit his chest as he told the story of another day on the job like it was the most nail-biting adventure he’d ever been on.

And that’s how they passed the time, Wilbur telling stories and Tommy exclaiming and guffawing at all the right beats, until they arrived at the village. As always, Wilbur kept a firm grip on Tommy’s arm as soon as they made it to the highstreet, steering him away from places he could get into trouble, which for Tommy, was _everywhere_.

“Will, lemme go, I’m practically an adult-” he whined, squirming half-heartedly in Wilbur’s grip, casting sideways glances to the main square where he knew Tubbo would be getting ready to take down his and his brother’s stall. “I promise I won’t even start stabbin’ shit.”

“The fact you have to promise that is damning, Tommy.” Wilbur sighs, dragging him further along the street and into the familiar workshop tucked in the west alley, ducking into the door and hearing the bell ring overhead.

The air smelt of iron and redstone, as always, and the furnaces in the basement cast an orange glow that flickered and popped on the back wall of the shop, the source hidden to the casual customer. Several clangs and knocks could be heard from the bottom of the stairs, an accented voice yelling “just a moment!” as something made a loud _whoosh_ nose and suddenly the glow was dimmed, leaving the various trinkets and contraptions that lined the walls to shine with a softer yellow light.

A pair of wide brown eyes and orange ears popped over the counter, surveying the shop before lighting up at the sight of Wilbur and Tommy.  
  
“Wilbur! You have my bones?”

“Amazing sentence, Fundy,” Wilbur grinned, before walking forward and placing the sack on the counter with a clatter. “That sack’s about three kilos, and Tommy has some dust if you’re interested.”

“Yeah man, buying from you guys is way cheaper than importing,” the hybrid nodded, idly scratching the fur on his nose and sneezing a cloud of ash and redstone into the air, both brothers saying “bless you” in sync. “I’ll weigh it and make you an offer, let me get my scales.” And with that, he was back down the stairs behind the counter, and the loud clanging resumed.

Tommy dropped the bag of redstone on the counter with more force than was necessary, shaking his arm out of Will’s grasp and crossing them over his chest.

“This is _boring_ , I don’t even need to be here.”

“You don’t need to be anywhere else, though.”

“I need to be with Tubbo, though”

“ClingyInnit of you”

“Say that again to my face, bitch-”

“Would it kill you two to stop fighting for a whole minute?” Fundy asks tiredly, plonking the large scales on the increasingly crowded counter with a sigh.

“We don’t fight, we… gently bicker”

“Speak for yourself big man,” Tommy huffs, “I’ll fight you and win.”

Wilbur, instead of responding, smacks him upside the head with one hand while he places the redstone on one side of the scales, Fundy loading the other with weights.

Nodding to himself, Fundy crouches down to look at the balance of the scale, scribbling a note down on his wrist, before rummaging through a box behind the counter and filling a tiny cloth bag with coins, and handing it over to Wilbur.

“Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen!”

Taking the purse with a smile, Wilbur ruffles the hair poking out from the front of the hybrid’s hat, “As always, son.”

“Still not a funny bit!”

“Doesn’t need to be!” he calls, dragging Tommy out the door with him as the younger rolls his eyes.

“Can we visit Tubbo now?”

Wilbur thought for a moment before shrugging. “It might be better if I do this next bit alone, so sure, I guess.” He brushes a smudge of redstone off the boy’s shirt before nudging him in the general direction of Tubbo’s stall, who’s waving enthusiastically while his brother loads their cart with unsold jars of honey. “Just don’t leave Tubbo before I get back.”

“You say that every time,” Tommy mumbles, though there’s a smile on his face as he waves back at Tubbo, clapping Wilbur on the back and telling him “See you, big dubs,” as he darts through the straggling customers of the Sunday market.

Wilbur turns away once he sees that Tommy made it to the stall unscathed, ducking down the alley and past several increasingly tight and winding cuts and alcoves, making his way down cobblestone steps to a large gate at the very edge of the village. Slipping inside after a quick look over his shoulder, he hurries down the twisting tunnels of what was once a cave system, refurbished into a mine, and left to rot as the town above grew more prosperous from exporting farmed goods than iron.

Three left turns and a right bring him to the most stable area left, and he lets himself in with a duck of his head and a knock.

“Dream?”

“Will!”

The masked man sits up from where he was sat on a barrel, his two compatriots looking up from the card game they were apparently playing (Wilbur notices, mildly, that Dream is winning by a landslide), stepping towards him and offering his arm, which Wilbur clasps in greeting.

“News?” Wilbur asked, stepping back to survey the room, noting the weapons polished to a deadly shine along the walls, and the travelling packs that wait by the door, ready to be picked up and ran with at any moment.

“Nothing relevant to you.” The smile on the stupid mask is cold, and Wilbur smiles back to hide his irritation. “Not the kind of violence you told us to look out for, I mean.”

“Different kinds of violence then?”

“The regular kind,” Sapnap pipes up from his spot on the floor, “nobody seems to care about your bastion for the moment.”

Wilbur feels his face twitch as he calls the temple that, but holds his smile in place.

“Good to hear,” he responds stiffly, reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out his coin purse and dropping the expected amounts into Dream’s waiting palm. “Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.”

“As always,” Dream chirps, pocketing the gold and leaning back on his heels. “We’ll be leaving again soon, but we can let you know when we’ll be back in your neck of the woods as soon as we know.”

“Brilliant. See you then.”

And Wilbur ducks through the exit with a grimace.

 _God_ , he cannot be bothered with the self-importance of folk heroes.

-

Tommy and Tubbo are both bleeding from the mouth when he gets back. A boy about their age, though more heavy set, is crouched on the ground cradling a broken nose, as Eret holds Tommy back by the collar of his tunic.

“Say that a-fucking-gain, you piece of shit! Get up! Get up!”

“Tommy!”

“He fucking punched Tubbo! He-”

“ _Tommy!_ ”

Tommy stops thrashing to stare at Wilbur, hunched over in a battle stance, wiping blood and only succeeding in smearing it across his chin.

“He looked at me! He was going to-” The boy on the ground falters for a second, his voice muffled by the hand cradling his broken nose. “He was…”

Wilbur grimaces, looking around at the small crowd that had gathered around the ordeal, and reaches forward to pull Tommy under his arm, steering him away from the square, as Eret uses his newly freed hands to check over Tubbo, making sure the boy still has all his teeth, before looking over the villager boy.

“Don’t touch me, don’t-” he looks up to Eret, to Tubbo, to Tommy, and spits on the ground before scrambling to his feet and running away.

“Ah,” Tubbo says, as he looks blankly at the floor.

-

Wilbur stops only when the square is out of sight, at the bottom of the trail that leads them to the temple, and holds Tommy by the shoulders.

“What were you thinking, Tommy!?”

Shoving his hands from his shoulders, Tommy goes rigid under Wilbur’s glare.

“I couldn’t just let him hit Tubbo, he came out of fucking _nowhere_ -”

“You could’ve not broken his fucking nose,” Wilbur says between gritted teeth.

“He could have minded his fucking business!”

“Why can’t you just deescalate-”

“He deserved to bleed-”

And the flare in Tommy’s eyes scares him for just a second. For a second, his brother, his Toms, is replaced by a vessel of carnage trained to be a killer by the most dangerous man in the world.

He schools his expression into something more neutral and fixes his posture, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder again- not to restrain, this time.

“Tommy, deep breaths.”

The younger glares at Wilbur’s shirt, refusing to meet his eyes, the tips of his ears still burning red with rage. He breathes in slowly.

“You didn’t have to hit him as hard as you did.”

“I know.”

Tommy’s shoulders are hunched in the way they always are whenever he’s told off, ever since he was a kid, and he’s fiddling with his fingers in the way that he does when he really does feel bad. He exhales, slow and controlled, like Wilbur taught him.

“Good,” and he pulls him into a hug.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has no impulse control and he needs a hug

Tommy is familiar with anger. He’s used to the way his entire face and neck seems to burn, and the way his blood seems to boil, and his arms tense up so much he has no choice but to rear back and let out the tension in a punch.

Wilbur and Phil try hard, really hard, to keep it under control. Phil makes him count, Will makes him breathe, and he does that, but counting to ten and breathing slowly doesn’t make the people who hurt him hurt him less, or the people who hurt Tubbo any less deserving of getting _decked_. Tommy is very familiar with the consequences of that anger.

The biggest consequence is always the shame. When Wilbur hugs him, he hates the parts of him that are scared to let go in case he starts blubbering like a fool, apologising for something he doesn’t regret, or some other humiliating thing that comes after all that rage spills over onto other people.

Wilbur doesn’t take his arm from round his shoulders the whole walk home, and he feels the way he squeezes him just a little tighter before stepping ahead to open the door, the ring of keys the only sound as the sky grows darker above them.

Phil is sat at the kitchen table when they get in, looking over plans for the farm before looking up and seeing the blood that still smears the lower half of Tommy’s face, and the grimace on Wilbur’s.

“Fuck, Tommy, what happened?” he asks, standing up and pulling Tommy’s face down to his level, assessing the damage.

“Some fucking guy bumped into me, started looking at Tubbo funny, and he fucking- one minute he was a total stranger, and then he was the guy who just punched my fucking friend, and then I put him on the ground.” Tommy mumbles towards the end, knowing that he’s disappointed Phil, and yeah, there it is again, shame, acid in his stomach. “I shouldn’t have broken his nose,” he mumbles even quieter, glancing at Wilbur.

“You broke a kid’s nose?” Phil repeats, high pitched. They really shouldn’t be this shocked, Tommy thinks, not the umpteenth time.

“He didn’t know how to throw a punch, and I did, so…” he trails off as Phil lets go of his face, and he looks at the wall, the floor, anywhere except for the faces of his guardians.

“Just,” Phil looks at him with an unreadable expression, and Tommy _hates_ those, “go and get yourself cleaned up, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Because that’s all he can say, really. He can go and rinse the blood from his teeth, but the bone deep anger is going to linger, no matter how hard Phil and Wilbur try to control it, without even understanding it. He half turns to leave, welcoming a short and gentle hug from Phil before slinking out of the room and down the hall to his room, dunking his head in the washbasin and scrubbing his face.

He holds himself there, the coldness of the water soothing on his split lip and bitten tongue, until he hears the _thump thump thump_ of Techno knocking on the door, before letting himself in anyway.

Pulling himself out of the water and pushing his now-soaked fringe back, he looks up at Techno.

“Smelled you come in.”

“Aw, fuck off, I smell better than you-”

Techno shakes his head minutely, “You stank of blood.”

“Yeh, well,” Tommy scrubs his face again for good measure, wiping it on his sleeve. He looks down at the water below him, the blueish-black lighting of the room making the reflection all ghostly. “Yeah.”

“Did they deserve it?” Techno asks.

“Yeah.”

“Anything broken?”

“Jus’ his nose.”

“What did they do?”

“Hit Tubbo.”

Technoblade hums, though its so low its almost a grunt, and moves over to Tommy. Without a word, Tommy is turning and hugging him, hiding his face in his shoulder. He doesn’t cry- he’s never been much of a crier- but he holds Techno as tight as he can, and Techno does the same.

Techno’s face is out of view now, but he can almost picture it, movement for movement, as he starts to speak.

“Phil and Wilbur, they care about you, Tommy. They do their best.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, just jerks his head in acknowledgement. He can practically hear the gears turning in Techno’s head as he tries to think of the right thing to say.

“I’m angry too.”

Tommy lets go, and Techno keeps his hands on his shoulders as he pulls back. He knows, on some level, that Techno _gets it_ in a way that Phil and Wilbur just can’t. He doesn’t know why, and he suddenly can’t stand not knowing.

“What about?”

“That’s the thing, Tommy. It’s not _about_ anything. It’s just always there, right under my skin. It’s what keeps people like us- ” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, or maybe somewhere beyond that, miles and dimensions higher- “the way we are. Fighters, yeah, but protectors, too. It’s good that you’re angry _about_ something, Tommy.”

Tommy is familiar with anger, as familiar as he is with his own hands, fumbling with nothing else to hold on to. He’s used to it, almost dependent on it, but he knows that if he didn’t have this understanding, it would consume him beyond retrieval. He can almost feel the way the other man’s blood never stops rushing, never stops boiling in the same way his own does. Without Techno, he doesn’t think he would know how to hold on to anything else. He hopes Techno knows that. He’s not sure how to tell him.

“Does it ever stop?” He asks instead, knowing the answer, but needing to hear Techno say it, to know he’s not alone in this.

“No,” he says, holding his gaze. “So you may as well make use of it.”

-

Tommy gets told off. Again. Phil has him sit down at the kitchen table, makes them have a “family meeting,” where Tommy tells them what happened in more detail, and the three of them tell him what he should have done, what he should do in the future.

Phil does the most talking, as always, and they hug him tightly when they’re done, and he hugs them back just as hard. By then, its late, and they have a quick supper of jacket potatoes before heading to their respective rooms. It’s routine, at this point.

-

Tommy can’t sleep. He’s not tired. All he can think about is the tension in his muscles, still strung out and unable to relax, and the pinging in his brain that keeps reminding him that he didn’t get the chance to check Tubbo over before being dragged away from the square.

He bites his lip as he stares at the ceiling, weighing his options. He could always go train- slash a dummy to smithereens, practice archery until his shoulders ache and his eyes go fuzzy from focusing too hard. He already knows what he’s going to do, but its nice to pretend that his first choice isn’t rule-breaking.

Heaving himself up from the mattress, he pulls on a clean tunic and a large brown leather jacket that he inherited from Wilbur, to keep off the midnight chill. Clear summer nights only made for more bitter winds when the sun went down, and he didn’t feel like letting his fingers go numb.

Creeping up the stairs to the hall, he’s thankful for the cobblestone floor and the lack of creaking as he hurries to the entrance, boots held in one hand and unlocking the door and various deadbolts and chains with another. He’s pretty sure Techno can’t hear him from his room at the far end of the temple, below the altar, but he’s not sure if Phil or Wilbur can, or even if they’re awake. It would really help if he knew exactly _how_ fucked each of his brothers’ sleep schedules were.

But apparently they can’t, or they’ve slept through it, because the door’s open now, and Tommy puts on his boots on the outside steps.

The moon is nothing but a sliver of light in the sky, but the stars are bright and numerous as ever as he sprints down the path, grinning ear to ear as he feels his muscles sing with the free movement, tension replaced with relief. The lights of the village are all snuffed out, but he doesn’t pay attention to what he sees, his feet knowing the path better than his brain.

There is no second floor to speak of, so he just walks right up to the window and knocks, and no, he does not feel bad when he hears a surprised yelp and sudden _thump_ from the other side.

The swish of curtains and grind of a window being pushed open rings through the still air, and Tommy is met with the wide-eyed face of his best friend.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Tubbo”

“What the hell are you doing here?” the eldest asks, an incredulous laugh bubbling between the words.

Tommy grins and shrugs his shoulders, digging his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket. “Had to make sure you hadn’t, like, died from a single punch.”

“Just because I don’t train with ooky spooky blood gods doesn’t mean I’m made out of _paper_ , Tommy,” Tubbo rolls his eyes as he leans forward and cranes his neck to show off his split lip and purpling bruise along his jaw, a blanket bundled around his shoulders. “See? Eret says it won’t even scar, which is a bit disappointing.”

“A scar would look cool,” Tommy agrees, though he can’t deny the relief that floods him when he sees that the wound really isn’t that deep, only being the result of Tubbo biting his own lip as his teeth were knocked closed by the blow. Looking at it now, he’s honestly surprised it bled as much as it did.

“You’ll have to teach me some of your moves,” Tubbo tells him, smiling because he doesn’t really mean it.

“Don’t think you reach the height requirement, big man,” Tommy snorts, dodging as Tubbo extricates an arm from his blanket to swat at him.

“Hey! This is bullying.”

“I’m not a bully, I’m _right._ ”

“Right pain in the neck, more like.”

“OOOH,” Tommy yowls sarcastically, “Tubbo, you wound me! I’m wounded!”

“Shut up, man” he laughs, Tommy breaking character to cackle along with him.

Settling down, Tubbo looks at him more sincerely.

“Was that really the only reason you came over? Aren’t you cold?”

“Eh,” Tommy shrugs, shuffling his feet, “Just couldn’t sleep, I guess. Head was bouncing all over the place.”

Tubbo gives him that mild, sympathetic smile again, and Tommy kind of wants to smack him for looking stupid, and the other half of him just wants to feel comforted. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, I was just dicking about with some songs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Tubbo says, eyes lighting up. “You want to hear?”

It’s Tommy’s turn to lean over the windowsill now, as Tubbo retreats into his room to grab a ukulele, painted bright blue. “Fuck yeah, man.”

“Right, so this one is kind of inspired by one Wilbur showed me from way up north, but I tweaked it a bit-”

And that’s how they spend the night, until the moon is past its apex and the clocktower chimes two, and Tommy goes home.

This time, he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood God says its plot time

The sky is bleeding when Techno opens his eyes. The void of unconsciousness yawns black and hungry below him, but he ignores it in favour of watching the melting god that vacations in his head.

“Hullo.”

The sky oozes its greeting.

“What do you want?” Techno asks, rubbing his eyes. “I was trying to sleep here.”

His subconscious twitches as he sees Tommy, blood smearing his chin and collecting between his teeth. He grunts.

“Yeah, he’s not under control yet. Droppin’ your energy all over the place. I need to teach him some self control.” He feels incredulity tugging at him. “I’ll take the ‘do as I say, not as I do’ approach,” he huffs.

His childhood flashes before his eyes, fight upon fight upon death, falling around him like gory snow.

Techno shifts his weight nervously, not liking where this is going.

The swirling memories consolidate into one solid image - the time he graduated from skeletons to piglins that didn’t see him as their own anymore. The first time he was ever on his own.

“Heh? That was _me_. This is _Tommy_ , being alone will drive him crazy.”

The sky drips sternly. Techno sighs, knowing they’re right.

“Yeah, he does. I can’t keep him here forever.”

His mind is filled with images of carnage and glory at his hands, millions of colours and textures stained red. In every image, Tommy is right by his side, covered in gore and grinning, success bloody on his tongue.

“The best way to learn is by doing, yeah. Yeah.”

And they’ve never been one for goodbyes, so he’s not necessarily surprised when he feels himself fall into that pit of sleep, though detaching from the ethereal plane is a gut-dropping as ever. He supposes it’s a bit much to ask the Blood God to let him down easy.

-

Weeks pass, and Techno hesitates.

He wears Tommy into the ground with his training, demanding they spar before dawn every day, and through most afternoons. He starts holding back less, not letting openings in the younger’s stance go unexploited, no weakness too small to be pointed out. He’s never seen more scrapes and bruises on one skinny body before, and he forces himself not to care. There will be much worse to come.

He has Phil construct dummy after training dummy, explain plant after plant, and Wilbur drill him on maps and languages, monitoring Tommy’s progress with a knifepoint-sharp gaze, holding back nothing as he ensures the kid is _perfect_.

They’re on the farm when Tommy finally snaps. Techno had been drilling him on his knowledge of something even he doesn’t fully have a grasp on, when Tommy rounds on him and starts yelling.

“What’s this for?”

“What do you mean,” Techno asks as flatly as he can.

“Fuckin-“ Tommy raises his hands to grip his own hair, frustration in every movement, “The training, and the lessons, and the fuckin, the fuckin critiques of everything I do, when you kept saying I was getting better just a bit ago, and-”

Techno shifts where he stands, picking up and then putting the rake back down again, unwilling to have nothing to fidget with while the child rants out his anger. He doesn’t want to break his roll, not when he can feel the rage rolling off him like waves. Its like standing in front of a blast furnace.

“ -and you never even told me what I did wrong, so I’m fuckin’ sorry if I did something, but you can’t just pull the _oh I’m Technoblade, I make the rules around here,_ when I don’t even know what got broken, that just not very fair-”

Techno holds up a hand to interrupt the triad, stepping forward when the kid keeps going despite the signal.

“Tommy,”

“Because I’m doing my best here, and- ”

“Tom.”

He watches him deflate like a hot air balloon, face still red with the exertion of not taking a breath since the beginning of that rant.

“This isn’t a punishment.”

Tommy glares at him, unconvinced. “Fuckin’ feels like it.”

Techno rubs the back of his neck, looking back on the past few weeks, realising he may have gone overboard.

“It’s just,” he hesitates. “Have you been havin’ dreams, Tommy?”

Tommy squints at him.

“Weird dreams,” Techno continues, “where you’re in your head but you’re not asleep.”

“Like… lucid dreams?”

Techno wavers his head from side to side, wondering if that’s really the most useful term he can use. “Like a lucid dream crossed with a vision, sure.”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. What does this have to do with you being a bitch for the past month?”

“Okay,” Techno says mostly to himself, “that means we still have time.”

“What,” Tommy asks in a tone as flat as Techno’s.

“I have those pretty regularly, Tommy. It’s how I communicate with-”

“The Big B to the G?” Tommy asks, excitement in his eyes.

“I’m amazed they haven’t smote you yet.”

Tommy wheezes a laugh, though it sounds nervous. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“They think it’s time for you to earn your initiation.”

Tommy seems to buffer for a second, there. He looks at Techno like he’s grown a second head, mouth hanging slightly open, eyebrows disappearing behind his frankly ridiculous fringe.

“A- I- You mean, like- The, the, the, um-“ He runs his hand through his hair nervously. “Right now?”

Techno cant help but laugh at that, looking at the kid stood in farming overalls and gloves, as if he’d let _his_ ward get initiated in a fucking straw hat.

“No, you idiot.” For being the smartest kid Techno knows, Tommy can be very, very stupid. “But… soon.”

Tommy nods at that, bringing his hand to his mouth to chew on the skin around his nail in the way he does when he’s nervous or thinking. Techno bats his hand back down to his side, before squeezing his shoulder.

“It was never a punishment, Tommy. I just-”

“You were doing that thing you do, yeah.”

What.

“What?”

Tommy shrugs, impish grin fixing itself in place, now that he knows he’s not in any trouble.

“The Technoblade thing.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Y’know, when you hear about literally anything ever, and decide that instead of acting like a normal, reasonable human being, you don’t tell anyone what the problem is-”

“I never said there was a _problem_ -”

“And you just overprepare, like an absolute madman, and you grind so much that you literally forget how to be a person without hyperfocusing on one massive task-”

“It’s a lot of small tasks, if you really think about it.”

“I will do no such thing, big man”

Techno rolls his eyes and ruffles the kid’s hair with such force that he hunches over, batting at Techno’s arm until he releases him.

“Eugh, you’re gonna make me look like Wilbur”

“No, Wilbur has the tall dark and handsome thing going on, you’re just a child.”

“I will have you know that I am a HUGE MAN-“

“You’ll be a huge man when you stick to your training.”

Tommy twists his face like he just ate something sour, and Techno was the one who forced it on him.

“So you’re not gonna go easier on me then?”

Techno shrugs, picking up a trowel and crouching back down onto his little gardening mat. Tommy drops to the ground cross-legged.

“I understand that I may have went a little overboard,” he admits. “But I stand by the fact that you need all the training you can get in a short amount of time.”

Tommy sighs and hunches his shoulders, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his fists.

“And it’s not a punishment. I really do just want you safe.”

“Yeah, I… I appreciate it, Blade,” he says, rubbing a bruise on his cheekbone that he sustained in a hand-to-hand match with Phil yesterday. “Could have fuckin’ told me, though.”

“Yeahhh, I forgot”

“You are... shit at communicating, Techno.”

“I’ve heard that.”

-

Wilbur and Tommy are sitting at the kitchen table a few days later, Wilbur speaking in deliberately short, simple sentences, and Tommy looking like he’s about to smash his head into a wall.

“Look, _north._ The up arrow means north, Tommy.”

“But there’s no fucking compass in the sky is there!? You’re being stupid, Wilbur, you’re getting all condescending and shit because I’m right.”

“Oh my god, are we doing this again?” Techno asks, removing his coat and rubbing his eyes. “Just look at the sun, Tommy, it’s not hard.”

“Phil says that if I look at the sun I’ll go blind!”

Wilbur slammed his hand on the table repeatedly, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t stare at it! You can see where it is without burning your eyes out!”

“Or I can just follow the path!”

“That’s what the sun helps you do!”

“But I know the path already!”

“Not fucking all of them!”

“But I know when to turn left and right!”

“Left and right are relative terms, Tommy, oh my god-“

Techno is pretty sure he feels a migraine coming on. “We are never letting you travel alone. Ever.”

“Why’s everyone yelling?” Phil asks, entering the room with a mug of tea and the placid smile of someone who gave up trying to control these idiots years ago.

“Tommy is refusing to learn the fucking cardinal directions again, Phil, please tell him-”

“Oh, but you can just follow the paths.”

The room falls silent. Wilbur’s eye twitches.

Tommy cackles.

“What? Maps include landmarks. If you want to go somewhere, there’s usually going to be a landmark that you can just travel towards, I don’t see the problem here-”

“Big man Philza, you are so right, you are always so right, you are oh so very wise-”

Will falls forward on the table, head buried in his arms. “I hate this fucking family.”

Techno nods his head in despair. “I’m disowning you both.”

“Bit chaotic, that,” Phil chuckles, “and you can always just use an actual compass if you really wanted to.”

That sets Tommy off again, insisting that Phil has betrayed him, and yes, Techno can _definitely_ feel a migraine coming on. Still, he catches himself smiling, surrounded by his family, loud and bickering, as they should be.

Tommy leaves shortly after, loudly announcing that he’s “following the _path_ to Tubbo’s house, sure hope I don’t get lost without looking at the _moon,_ ” shutting the door loudly before Wilbur or Techno can yell anything back at him. He’s spending the night there, and Techno is half-tempted to just lock him out until he can tell him which is the north-facing side of the building, but that might be petty, even for him. He’ll leave it to Wilbur.

Just as he thinks that, he hears Will as he heavily sets himself down in the chair next to him, long legs splayed out in front of him so he takes up as much space as possible.

“Long day?” he asks, absentmindedly sharpening his axe.

Will makes a long sound in his throat, a cross between a groan and a yell, before turning his head to Techno with a flat expression.

“Why must you exploit my love of geography, Techno. Why do I have to teach the child? Is it not enough to be able to identify a country by simply counting how many stables it has?”

“That sounds like an incredibly useless skill.”

“It is, but it’s also incredibly impressive, thank you very much.”

“Hm,” Techno acknowledges, twisting his axe so he can see his reflection in it, before setting it down and moving on to Tommy’s training sword. “I was meaning to talk to you, actually.”

Wilbur perks up, interested. “What about?”

“The reason I’m making Tommy train so hard.”

“You mean your vision?”

Fuck’s sake.

“You mean… you already know.”

“Dude,” Wilbur gives him a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “You think Tommy learned he could actually leave this village, and he didn’t immediately tell everyone who would listen?”

Looking back, Techno realises that Tommy has never kept a secret in his life- not from Wilbur, anyway.

“Alright, yeah, fine. At least I remembered to _try_ and tell you.”

Wilbur laughs, and Techno rolls his eyes, sharpening Tommy’s sword with smooth, practiced movements. Keeping his eyes on the blade, he hears as Wilbur leans to the far wall, picking up his guitar and shuffling a little farther away from where the weapon rests on Techno’s knee, conscious of the many, many chips and scratches that litter the bottom of the guitar from this exact situation.

“Phil knows too, just so you’re aware.”

“I figured.”

Smiling to himself, Wilbur idly picks at the strings, rearranging the same four chords until he seems to settle on a tune, humming along quietly. Still strumming, he starts to speak.

“We’ll all be able to come with you, surely?”

Techno keeps his breath steady, in rhythm with the whetstone, and Wilbur’s quiet strumming.

“Tommy would riot if he didn’t have you and Phil there to watch his first real battle. He’s a showman at heart.” He can picture it now- Tommy, surrounded by bodies, looking up at his guardians the way a cat does when it brings home roadkill. The fondness the image sparks in him is not as disquieting as it should be.

“You think I should write a ballad to commemorate the occasion?”

Techno snorts. “Please, God, no. His ego would kill us all.”

Wilbur laughs, strumming increasing in volume. “I need new material, man, the people love a coming-of-age story.”

“They can get it somewhere else,” Techno chuffs, rolling his eyes. “Write a song about sea life or something, nerd.”

“Oh, you know I hate it when you bring up my dark past, Techno, how could you?”

Full on grinning now, Techno pauses his sharpening to nudge Wilbur’s strumming shoulder with his own, telling him “Bullying Wilbur duty. I’m picking up Tommy’s slack.”

“Unforgiveable.”

“Inevitable, really.”

They settle into their last quiet night for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BROOOO ok I've been very quiet in the notes until now because I don't really know what to say, but I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful, wonderful comments. They honestly make my day, and getting this much high praise on the first fanfiction I've ever posted is something i never expected. I appreciate you all so much!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo is the only one who gets anything done around here smh

“So do you get a crown, then?” Tubbo asks, lying on the living room floor and staring at the ceiling. Both of them had long abandoned the couch, instead choosing to have a handstand competition (which Tubbo won by the way, pog,) and then neither of them had the motivation to move when the piles of blankets made the floor so comfy.

Tommy shrugs from his position across the floor, legs thrown haphazardly over Tubbo’s.

“I don’t think so,” Tommy starts, “I think that might just be a Techno thing. He’s dramatic like that.”

“Really?” He asks, looking over to where Tommy is idly playing with a wooden puzzle he got from Tubbo’s desk. “He never seems like the dramatic type.” He thinks back to all the times he’s stayed over at Tommy’s place, and the way the piglin seemed to just kind of… hover, before he seemed to accept that Tubbo wasn’t a threat, and started opening up to be one of the funniest, driest people he had ever met. But not _dramatic_.

“Very,” Tommy nods, tossing the puzzle onto the large armchair across the room, messed up and unfinished. “He literally reads plays for _fun_ , Tubbo, and he wears his stupid royal-looking coat all the time. And he says he’s an anarchist!”

“I think that’s probably a requirement for serving the god of chaos,” Tubbo reminds him.

Tommy scoffs. “Y’know, when I let you sit in on my lessons, I didn’t expect you to fuckin’ use them against me, getting all smart and shit.”

Tubbo grins widely at him, shifting his legs so he bounces Tommy’s, purposely irritating. “I’ve always been smart, you just kept forgetting cos your brain’s so small.”

“Listen here you little shit-” And Tommy is tacking him, wrestling him to the ground with a grin and a shout.

Yelping, Tubbo does his best to fight back but- listen, alright, it’s not his fault Tommy is like a foot taller than him, _and_ has those ooky spooky god powers, _and_ years of training in hand to hand combat. He gets wrestled to the ground without much of a fight.

He watches for that gleam in Tommy’s eye that he sometimes gets whenever they play-fight, and when he sees no such flare, decides it’s a brilliant idea to thwack him over the head with a pillow, before throwing a blanket over his head and gripping him tightly around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides and the blanket over his head. He looks like a sock.

“You look like a sock!”

“What does that even mean, Tubbo-“ Tommy stars wiggling his way out of his fabric prison, Tubbo laughing and holding tighter until Tommy just _throws_ himself to the side, taking Tubbo with him, and forcing him to let go in surprise from the fall.

“That’s cheating! Where’s your brute strength?” he laughs, watching as Tommy muddles his way out from under the blanket, before balling it up and throwing it at Tubbo.

“I used brute strength of the MIND, big man, my brain is just so powerful, and not small at all.”

Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak, Tubbo sticks his tongue out and Tommy reaches over him to pull the hood of the blanket over Tubbo’s eyes.

“Bitch boy,” Tommy mumbles, as Tubbo grins and adjusts the blanket so he can see.

“Rudeness doesn’t suit you,” Tubbo snarks.

“Yes it does, everything suits me”

“Even your stupid ascot?”

“ESPECIALLY my ascot, what is WRONG with you-”

-

Tubbo wakes up, hours later, to a punch in the face. The combined dizziness of the knock to the head and the fog of recent unconsciousness has him too disoriented to panic properly, but he scrambles out of the pile of blankets and pillows fast enough to see Tommy, grunting and lashing out in his sleep.

Spindly limbs thrash at the blankets, and though he’s still unconscious, there’s enough force in his movements for Tubbo to hear the distinctive rip of fabric after a particularly distressed movement.

Ignoring the bumps and bruises he must be sustaining from Tommy’s fists, Tubbo leans over Tommy and grips him by the shoulders, lifting him to his chest with difficulty and shaking him.

“Tommy, Tommy wake up, it’s a nightmare, you’re having a nightmare-” Tubbo mutters to him, hoping he’s loud enough to wake Tommy and not Eret, who’s probably sleeping in the next room.

With a sharp gasp, like he’s just come up from drowning, Tommy snaps his eyes open and grips a fistful of Tubbo’s shirt, curling in on himself so his head is tucked under Tubbo’s chin. Tubbo squeezes Tommy as close as he dares, not wanting to startle him.

“Tommy? What was-”

“I had it, it finally happened, Tubbo, and it wasn’t like a lucid dream at all, Tubbo, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I just had to _watch_ as it showed me what I have to do, and I don’t know if I can, Tubbo, I don’t know if I can come back from that-” he takes a shaky breath and runs a hand down the front of his face, ducking his head so Tubbo can’t see his eyes. “ _Fuck._ ”

Tubbo doesn’t know what to say. He knows Tommy, probably better than he knows himself- he doesn’t know how to talk him through this, though. Everything that he thinks to say feels too small, inadequate in the face of his best friend meeting a cosmic force- so he just presses his face into Tommy’s hair, and keeps his breathing slow until Tommy matches his rhythm.

He loosens his grip as Tommy starts to sit up, and turns to look at him with eyes sharp and cold as steel.

“We need to leave,” he says, starting to scramble to his feet, never letting go of the front of his shirt. “We need to get out of here and not come back.”

Tubbo watches as Tommy picks up his overnight bag, before stalking into Tubbo’s bedroom and soundlessly packing a bag for him, while all Tubbo can do is watch in confusion. As Tommy hands him the satchel, Tubbo grabs his wrist to hold him in place.

“Tommy, we can’t just run away,” he tells him, and he sees the way Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Tell me what happened.”

Tommy looks to the door of the bedroom, as if checking if Eret is still sleeping, before turning to Tubbo and worrying his lip.

“The Blood God,” he starts, “wants me to graduate. Get initiated, ordained, officially recruited, whatever.”

“You knew that already, though,” Tubbo tries to tell him.

“I know I did, but I- it was fine in theory, but they…” Tommy drags his free hand down his face again, looking to the ceiling, “they showed me what that’s going to do to me. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

“Do you want to… talk about it?”

Because Tubbo thinks he might know what he means. He remembers the first day they met, 10 years old, when he ran into Tommy fighting some kids way bigger than him. Remembers being a little bit scared of this new kid, who bore his teeth in a snarl, fists clenched and flying even when he was outnumbered. Eyes so angry they almost looked red, curses so foul Tubbo nearly covered his ears. Remembers throwing a rock at the back of one of the kids, because he can’t stand bullies, and the way Tommy seemed to stick to him like glue ever since, and the way Tubbo did the same.

He wonders if that snarling creature is all Tommy’s future has in store for him, and he thinks he’ll need more rocks.

His friend looks at him with wide eyes, hands coming to his mouth so he can pull at his nail with his teeth (Tubbo belatedly notices himself mirror the nervous tic,) before he seems to shake his head to himself.

“It was bad, that’s all you need to know. It was bad and I don’t want it to happen.” Tommy starts to pull his wrist from his hold, but Tubbo only follows him as he takes a single step towards the door.

“Then don’t,” Tubbo pushes, “what’s gonna make you?” And Tubbo isn’t a fighter, but right then he thinks he might just walk up to that altar above the valley to cuss out the thing that’s hurting his friend. “It can’t force you.”

Tommy looks vaguely pained as he tries to explain, “No, because, I don’t know how to keep going as I am, but I don’t know if I’ll still be me if I go forward with it, and I-” and Tubbo doesn’t think this is very productive, actually, so he makes the decision for them.

“Alright, lets go,” he says, and starts walking towards the door.

“Y- what?” Tommy stutters, as his brain finally slips past fight and flight and into freeze, and Tubbo closes and locks the door behind them as he starts down the path.

“I honestly have no idea what’s going on, and I don’t think you actually do either, but if anyone does it’s going to be Technoblade.”

“But they’ll all be asleep, and what if they try to make me leave, they could all convince me to go through with it, or even worse, they might convince me not to, and at this point I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do without accidentally burning my own house down or some shit,” Tommy rambles, voice getting rougher as he refuses to pause for breath, though he follows Tubbo’s tugging on his sleeve with hunched movements, satchel slung over one shoulder.

“You talk a lot when you’re stressed,” Tubbo points out as they start to make their way out of the valley.

“What do you mean stressed? I’m not stressed, I was just talking through some things, thinking out loud if you will, making sure me and my dear friend Tubbo are on the same page-"

“Yeah, like that.” Tubbo says brightly, hoping to keep the mood light, though he too can feel the clinging sense of dread which seems to be radiating from his best friend. “Would you mind talking about useful stuff, though?”

“Wow Tubbo, if you wanted me to shut up you could just-"

“No no no, that’s not what I meant! Just,” he glances back at his friend so he can lock eyes with him, tries to give him a smile. “I would really like to have some idea of what’s going on with you lately.”

“Was it the fighting?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Tubbo admits, “but not because you broke that kid’s nose, fucker deserved it,” Tubbo pauses to grin and Tommy smiles back, “Its more the fact that like… everyone is picking fights with you, man.”

Tommy looks uncomfortable, though he picks up his pace so that he’s now walking with Tubbo, shoulder to shoulder, instead of trailing behind.

“Is it something you did?”

“It’s like… something I do. Or something I am. Like, a sponge?”

Tubbo really wants to be the understanding friend here, but Christ, Tommy is making it hard.

“Sponges don’t have brains,” he supplies helpfully.

“Not helpful,” Tommy shoots back, before lifting his hand to his chin and going deep in thought. “Phil explained it like… Okay, so imagine you’re a sponge, yeah?”

Tubbo doesn’t know where this is going, but he nods.

“So you’re gonna soak up whatever’s around you, because that’s what sponges do. Now imagine, I’m also a sponge, and I’ve been soaking in the sink for like, sixteen years, I’m more water than sponge, it’s a whole mess.”

Tubbo imagines Tommy, dripping wet and covered in barnacles, and wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“Shh, I’m explaining. So I’m a sponge, and you’re dry, so when I’m next to you, you’re gonna soak up all that sink water I’m giving off, and you’re gonna get saturated too.”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, not understanding.

“But the water isn’t actually water, it’s like, every violent impulse you’ve ever had, every time you hit your toe off a doorframe and want to punch something.”

“Okay,” Tubbo says, kind of getting it. “So you’re not actually a sponge.”

“No, I’m not actually a sponge,” Tommy sounds exasperated. “It’s a metaphor, Tubbo, what do you want from me?”

“I mean, apparently a clear explanation was too big an ask,” he laughs, and something tugs in his chest when Tommy doesn’t caw out his own. “Sorry.”

Tommy shrugs “It’s fine, big T, I just wish I could explain it better.” He looks up at the temple, rising dark and sturdy over the horizon. “The Blood God is the tap, if that helps.”

And somehow, it does, because Tubbo finds himself putting the pieces together and looking up at Tommy with realisation.

“You’re like an emitter of terrible, awful vibes.”

“What!? No, shut up, my vibes are the result of incredibly cool god powers, and therefore incredible.”

“Not to the people in the village!”

“Tubbo, I hate to break it to you, but _you’re_ the people in the village.”

Tubbo shrugs, “But I don’t soak up your terrible sink water.”

Tommy seems to pause at that, looking at Tubbo strangely, before looking back to the squat, black building he calls home. “Hm. I guess you don’t.”

-

Phil hears footsteps coming up the path, and his hand is on his sword before he’s even fully awake. The distant bickering is indistinct, but if he strains his ears- Tommy?

Hearing the youngest’s voice only forces him to grip the hilt of his sword tighter, slipping out of bed as quietly as he can, and into the hall. The swing and click of the fence that lines the property alerts him to how close the boys are- that’s Tubbo’s voice, right? Are they being escorted? – and he unlocks and opens the front door as quickly and quietly as he can, before swinging it open.

Behind it stands both Tommy and Tubbo, unaccompanied, Tubbo with one fist raised as if to knock, and both of them looking shocked and vaguely guilty.

“Boys,” Phil starts, and he notices his voice is rough and tired sounding- he probably has a face like thunder right now, oops –“What are you doing here.”

Tubbo casts a glance at the sword in his hand before making eye contact, apologetic smile fixed firmly in place.

“Tommy, um,” he grabs his friend by the arm and pulls him forward, “there was a Blood God thing? I think he needs Techno.”

And its weird, really weird, that Tommy isn’t speaking for himself, so all Phil can do is step aside, suddenly very much alert. Quickly setting his sword back down behind his nightstand, he hurries to go wake Techno while the boys go and sit in the kitchen, talking quietly amongst themselves.

“Techno,” he murmurs, only leaning down to shake the piglin’s shoulder after he’s moved his weapons out of reach. His wrist is in an iron grip as soon as it makes contact, though the other only opens one eye to look up at him, making a questioning noise while his snout is still buried in his pillow.

“Code Tommy,” Phil smiles wryly, not knowing enough to be able to explain.

Techno sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. “What’d he do?”

“No idea, but god stuff is your responsibility.”

Techno looks up at him, a flicker of concern on his face before he sets himself in stone, waking up fully and pulling on a real shirt over his nightclothes.

“Aw, shit.”

-

“So how is initiation gonna help you be less of a leaky sponge, then?”

“Initiation is like… learning how to waterbend.”

“The Blood God is a waterbender?”

“No, Tubbo it’s a METAPHOR-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO ill try to upload quicker next time lol  
> Also my tumblr is @creeptozoologist i feel like im supposed to broadcast that  
> Your kind words are appreciated as ever, those of you that are sticking with this story make my heart grow three sizes


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is ready for what the future holds for Tommy, least of all Tommy himself.

Techno enters the kitchen with Phil close behind. Tommy seems to be talking rapidly about the difference between a metaphor and an analogy, while Tubbo sits on the counter and squints at his friend incredulously.

Techno is about to complain about the lateness of the hour, or the fact that they seem pretty okay to him, frankly, but then Tommy hears the kitchen door knock against the wall, and his eyes, when he meets them, are suddenly wide and frightened. Any annoyance he felt at being woken up is immediately blunted into concern for his ward, crossing the kitchen so he can stand in front of him and check him over. Physically, nothing seems to be wrong, though Tubbo has a quickly purpling bruise right over his left eyebrow – but Tommy’s hands are trembling, and his shoulders are drawn up to his chin, and his eyes look like they belong to someone three times his age.

Techno understands immediately.

“They spoke to you.”

Tommy’s face immediately tightens, and contorts into a scowl.

“Spoke is a fucking polite way of putting it,” he spits, “you said it would be like a dream, Technoblade, not a fucking horror dimension.”

Techno grimaces, glancing back to the other two in the room. Phil is looking concernedly at Tommy, while Tubbo’s gaze flickers between Techno and Tommy nervously, thumbnail between his teeth.

Techno looks back to the boy, taking him by the shoulder and guiding him out of the room.

“Give us a moment,” he mutters as he passes Phil, closing the kitchen door with his foot and guiding Tommy round the corner so they’re out of hearing range.

Tommy seems to practically vibrate with an unnameable energy, halfway between terror and rage, and when he opens his mouth, the damn breaks.

“The sky was made of fucking blood, Techno, it felt like I was in- in its _stomach_ or some shit, or stood on its tongue and it was about to eat me alive, and I fucking- I knew it was all in my head, but it was _in my head_ , and I couldn’t properly think around all the red it shoved in there, and then the red made fucking shapes and it was me, and I was-“

Techno squeezes his arm and looks at him sternly, silently reminding him to breathe. Tommy takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, opening them again and lowering his voice, purposefully calm.

“I was a killer, Techno. I was a walking weapon.”

“Tommy, I need you to look me in the eye and tell me what you thought talking to the Blood God would be.” Techno’s voice is hard and cold, because fuck, what is he supposed to do? Softness won’t help him now. He can’t let Tommy back out of this, can’t let him show hesitation under the watchful eye of a god that demands action and blood.

“I didn’t fucking know! I didn’t fucking know, because you never bothered to tell me! How am I supposed to live after initiation, when it fucking makes a permanent home in my brain?”

“If I had told you it wouldn’t make a difference,” Techno bites out, “And letting a god in your head is going to be a ride no matter what you do, Tommy. What you saw was probably terrifying, sure, but that,” Techno takes a breath, fighting to keep his tone level, “that’s what you’re built for.”

“I wasn’t built for that, Techno, I didn’t even know what I was killing, I was- I don’t think I was me, I don’t want to be like-”

And now Techno drops control for a second, lets his own fear and rage spill out, just enough to grip Tommy by the shoulders with more force than necessary and shake him.

“Tommy, look at me. Either you’re initiated properly, or the rage tears through you and you fucking die. That’s the play here. You’re a time bomb that’s already ticking. Do you get into fights because you want to, Tommy?”

Tommy is looking at him wide eyed, but he shakes his head minutely.

“No, you get in fights because you need to. Because if you don’t your mind will break under the strain.” Techno lowers his voice, conscious of Phil and Tubbo, who are just around the corner, who shouldn’t hear this. “It happens easier than you think it will. And you can’t come back from what you do when it’s not your body anymore.”

Tommy has never looked more terrified than he does right now. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I wish I wasn’t like this.”

His eyes are wide and distraught, looking at Techno like he just stabbed him and twisted the knife. And Techno feels despair settle over his shoulders as Tommy jerks from his grip and stalks into the kitchen once more, slamming the door behind him. Techno turns to watch him leave, and makes eye contact with Wilbur, standing at the end of the hall.

“Nice job,” the older tells him dryly.

Techno just grunts and stares at the patch of wall where Tommy’s head used to be.

“How long were you there for?”

“Since Tommy started looking like he was going to punch you.”

Techno rubs his eyes. “So the whole thing, then.”

Wilbur half snorts, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning on and crossing the hall to where Techno is still standing.

“He’s been marked from the day he was born, Wilbur.” He says, posture worsening in his regret. “He called it his head, but really, it’s more like his soul that the Blood God’s getting into. The core that the rest of a person grows around. And it’s going to get in either way.” Wilbur looks torn, wanting to know more and not wanting to ask. “If he tries to fight it, he’ll lose and die. Probably go mad along the way. If he lets it in properly, he has a chance.”

“But it’ll change him,” Wilbur asks, though it sounds like a statement.

“Yeah. Don’t know how much. Might just be Tommy, but a bit more stable when the connection settles. Or he could turn into-” he remembers himself, years ago, when all he could do was tear things apart. “Something else.”

“What can we do about it? How do we make sure it keeps him the way he is?” and Wilbur is better with his emotions, better at showing them, so the fear and sadness rings through in his voice as he grips his arm to turn him around, looking him in the face.

Techno shakes his head. “The parts of him that control that aren’t the parts that you can teach. You can’t teach willpower, not more than we already have by raising him right. The Blood God doesn’t live in the parts of humanity that you can think logically about.”

And he knows Wilbur _hates_ that, knows Wilbur is the furthest from understanding his world of blood and gore from his world of words and negotiations, knows he hates feeling powerless. All he wants to do is keep Tommy safe. He understands, because he feels the same way.

“I hate this,” Wilbur tells him.

“Me too,” he replies.

-

Tommy returns to the kitchen with a slam of the door, and Tubbo looks up at him, immediately noticing the raw look in his eyes, like a fresh wound. Phil seems to notice it too, as he takes the kettle off the fire and silently offers a steaming mug to Tommy.

“Wha’ is it,” Tommy mumbles, already raising it to his face and blowing to cool it down.

“Nettle,” Tubbo supplies, giving a weak smile from where he holds his own mug, still sitting on the counter.

“And mint,” Phil adds. “Allergy season.”

Tommy makes a noncommittal noise and leans on the section of counter next to Tubbo, taking small sips as he hunches his shoulders.

Phil places his mug on the counter.

“You going to tell me what happened tonight?”

“Tubbo not already tell you?” Tommy asks, slowly sounding less angry, and more tired.

“I didn’t know how much to say,” Tubbo tells him, because he really didn’t. How do you tell your best friend’s guardian, your own tutor, that their charge tried to run away in the middle of the night without them? How do you tell them you would have went with him, if he really wanted to?

So Tommy gives Phil the abridged version, (leaving out the panicked packing of bags and escape plan, Tubbo notices,) telling him the Blood God had finally come to him, showed him what he had to do.

“Its so shit, man. It’s like my body holding my brain hostage. Or the other way round, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Phil places a hand on his shoulder, and Tubbo watches what he thinks might be the five stages of grief pass over the eldest’s face in the space of half a second.

“Techno got through it. You will too.”

Tubbo doesn’t know how Phil and Techno met, exactly. He’d never asked Tommy, though he had volunteered enough information about his brothers over the years for Tubbo to have a foggy picture of his family history. Techno met Phil first, at some vague point in Techno’s early teens. Then they both met Wilbur soon after, when he was fifteen, and then Wilbur found Tommy on his own travels, bringing him back to the temple when he was ten, and the rest was, apparently, history.

In this moment, Tubbo sees the kind of man Phil must have been when he first met Techno, the firm determination that it must have taken to half-raise the scariest man in the world. He sees him wear that determination now, looking at Tommy, and he wishes he could look the future in the face the same way he does.

He tries to, in his own way.

“We should probably go to bed,” he says, because that seems like the next thing that should get done.

Phil nods, turning to Tommy and asking, “Will you be able to sleep?”

Tommy looks up from his tea sluggishly, glancing from Tubbo to Phil. “Can he stay?”

“We have plenty bed rolls in storage, he can sleep on your floor.” Phil shrugs, before checking with Tubbo. “That sound okay?”

Tubbo nods, not wanting to leave Tommy on his own right now, and more than used to sleeping over on the cobblestone floor, with extra blankets pilfered from storage and Tommy’s bed.

“Brilliant. I’ll go get that set up.” And with that, he ruffles Tommy’s hair and leaves the room.

Both of them hear murmuring outside the door, words too quiet to be identified, and then there is silence.

“What did he say?” Tubbo asks.

And Tommy tells him what he can only assume is the full story, by the brutality of it. He doesn’t look up from his tea the whole time, though he leans so his shoulder is touching Tubbo’s, and he presses back to remind him he’s there.

“Techno isn’t very good at comforting people, is he?”

Tommy snorts, finishing his tea and setting the mug down next to Phil’s. “No, he’s really not.”

“I wish I was better at it,” he tells Tommy, because its true, and he really wants Tommy to know he’s on his side.

Tommy snorts and bumps his shoulder, so Tubbo’s tea sloshes in his mug, only just avoiding a spillage. “You do an okay job,” he chuckles weakly, “and I appreciate it, man.”

And when they go to Tommy’s room and lie down, Tommy in his bed with the sheets kicked off, Tubbo on the floor in a veritable mountain of blankets, Tubbo stares at the wall and thinks about the future. About Tommy, and what he’ll be like when that fucking God makes a home in his head. He thinks about bullies, and bloody noses, baby teeth bared and knocked out.

Neither of them can tell if the other is asleep. Neither of them is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BRUH THAT FUCKING STREAM THOOOOOOOOOO   
> THIS WAS ALREADY AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE BUT YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
> its fine man i liked these bastards before the dream smp so the characters they play here are like,,,, amalgamations of their various personas over the years, from dreamSMP to SMPearth and so on. 
> 
> TY FOR READING


	8. Chapter Eight

Tommy thinks this might be what it’s like to reach his breaking point. He wakes up from what must have been an hour of sleep feeling foggy, the walls of his own room looking unfamiliar and distorted, the breathing pile of blankets next to him seeming like a stranger. He can’t place his face, but he sees that it’s sleeping, and defenceless, and his hands are made to crush weak things-

Tommy comes back to himself like a sledge hammer to the back of the head, and scrambles back as far as he can from Tubbo’s – _his friend, his best friend, how could he not recognise him_ – sleeping form. His hands are both pressed over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheeks as he breathes heavily and tries to register what the fuck just happened. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, trying to breathe, count back from ten, and on the fourth try he is able to pry his hands away from his own face without making a sound.

He looks down at his shaking hands, rough from years of handling swords and bows and axes, and thinks he might be a monster.

-

Tubbo wakes up with a groan and a sigh, clearly still drowsy. Tommy watches from his far corner, hands clasped firmly round the back of his neck while he rests his elbows on his knees, hunched like a gargoyle in the way Phil tells him will ruin his back when he’s older.

“Morning,” Tubbo yawns, rubbing his eyes.

“Morning, Tubbo.” Tommy replies, contemplating weather he should unfold himself from his current position or just stay here, hoping that if he doesn’t move, he won’t be dangerous.

Tubbo seems to notice his little mental war with himself, because he shimmies out from under his blankets and sits at the end of Tommy’s bed, squinting at him like a particularly challenging puzzle, or a machine that won’t work quite right. Tommy resents that.

“Did you have another dream?” He asks, and the earnest concern in his eyes makes Tommy want to scream.

He clenches his jaw. “No,” he starts. He takes a breath- stops. Pauses. Turns to Tubbo, and moves his arms so they’re wrapped around his knees. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

Tubbo frowns. “Of course, man. I’d never hurt you either.” He shuffles closer, bumping his shoulder against Tommy’s. “What’s this about?”

Tommy shakes his head, leaning his arm back against Tubbo’s and looking at the floor.

“Is it a Blood God thing?”

Tommy nods minutely, hating that he can’t find the words to explain he’d been fully ready to _murder_ Tubbo ten minutes ago.

“Now that it’s been in once, I don’t think it’s left completely. The world is…” Tommy looks around him, at his bedroom, and all he can think about is how every item in this room can be used as a weapon. “Everything feels like I’m in the middle of a fight, and all my brain can focus on is how to win.”

“Who are you fighting?”

“Everyone,” Tommy half laughs in his despair. “I’m losing my fuckin’ mind, Tubbo, I was about to- I think I might be evil.”

Tubbo lets out a snort at that, even as Tommy looks at him in shock.

“What? I really think I am! You don’t know what I-”

Tubbo physically prevents him speaking with a hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“You’re not evil, Tommy, and you’re not going to talk yourself in circles like you did last night.” He lets his hand fall back to his side, revealing the grimace Tommy is wearing in all it’s glory. “Listen to me, right? You’re my best friend. So I’d like to think I know you pretty well, yeah?”

Tommy opens his mouth to interrupt, but Tubbo is already continuing.

“You couldn’t be evil if you tried. You’re the most trusting person I know. You get into fights you don’t need to, and you’re loud, and you don’t really know when to stop a bit-”

“You’re not helping-”

“But you’re my _friend,_ Tommy, and I’m pretty sure you’d rather eat glass than hurt me. Or Wilbur, or Phil, or Techno.”

“To be fair, Techno would probably punt me out the window.”

“Phil too,” Tubbo relents. “But Wilbur still works with my point, he’s a stick. I don’t think you could hurt us because of like, emotional reasons, is what I’m saying.”

Tommy can’t tear his gaze from the splotch of purplish-yellow above Tubbo’s eyebrow, nearly on his temple, but he tries to smile anyway. He decides, privately, to never sleep with a weapon under his pillow.

-

Tubbo leaves soon after, looking back every couple few steps and waving until he’s out of sight. Tommy watches him leave from the doorway, Wilbur looming behind him like some sort of bodyguard, and the flare of irritation it sends up his spine is startling. There was a time when he would want nothing more than for his brother to stand by him when the world seems like its going to shit- now he has to focus on not flinching when he touches his arm.

“Tommy? You alright?”

“Eh? Yeah, yeah, I’m…” he looks up at Wilbur, the concerned furrow in his brow, the way his eyes seem to dart over his face rapidly, searching for something. “I want breakfast.”

“Let’s go.”

There’s a full loaf of bread waiting for them on the table, and Tommy waits until its sliced and buttered to ask.

“Where’s Phil and Techno?”

The atmosphere is so tense that he feels like the air is physically thickening, as Wilbur looks at him with sad eyes and starts to speak.

“They’re in the village.”

“Why?”

Phil going to the village without telling anyone is normal, the eldest preferring to do things on his own. But Techno… Techno avoids the village like the plague. Says there are too many people, too many eyes. Tommy can’t even picture him in the square.

Wilbur swallows and looks at the table, before pushing his unfinished plate away. “They’re getting supplies, I think. Food and soap, things like that.”

“Do they have a job?”

“No.”

And Tommy knows what’s coming before he even says it. It’s always been Wilbur who breaks the worst news.

“We’re leaving. For your, um,” Wilbur searches for the right word.

“My initiation.” Tommy finishes, nodding. He feels dread prickle at the back of this neck, throat closing up as he thinks about the future. He’s waited years for this- for the day he could finally kiss this stupid village goodbye, move on to bigger and better things. Techno had filled his head with ideas about the world, about war, the glory of enemies eviscerated by your own hand. Techno never cared about the travelling, but the freedom of battle- completely in his element, _Tommy’s_ element, soon- he was told there was nothing quite like it. But all he could think about was how much he’d miss his home.

He doesn’t even realise his hands are shaking until Wilbur places a hand over them, squeezing.

“We’ll all be with you, Tommy. Techno, Phil and I, we’ll make sure it goes smoothy. You’ll be okay.”

Tommy looks at Wilbur, sees how tired he is, how hard he’s trying, and squeezes his hand back.

Phil and Techno return just before lunch with an honest-to-god cartful of supplies, barrels and boxes and bedrolls piled into the vehicle, and Tommy is once again hit with every emotion he thinks its possible to feel, swirling and settling in the pit of his stomach like a stone. Phil raises an arm and smiles at him as they clamber up the hill- Techno is as stony faced as ever, looking vaguely irritated as he carries the reigns. The horse- Carl, apparently,- whinnies and ducks his head when he sees him, and Tommy decides he looks friendly, at least.

“Is this not a bit, uh-” he gestures to the pile “a bit much?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Phil chirps, ruffling Tommy’s hair as he passes, though he has to reach up to do it now.

Techno doesn’t say a word, though Tommy watches as he leads the horse to the far end of the grounds and ties him to the fence, gentle in the way Techno only ever is with animals. Tommy feels pathetic for feeling jealous of a _horse_. He turns to Phil instead.

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as possible,” he tells him. “Techno thinks that’s what best, and its not like any of us know more about how the Blood God operates than he does, eh?”

Tommy scowls. “S’pose. How soon is soon, though?”

“Dawn.” Techno’s voice is flat and comes from somewhere behind him, and Tommy isn’t sure if this is what Techno looks like when he feels guilty. He looks at him as firmly as ever, but his stance isn’t as ramrod-straight, his shoulders just a little hunched, his neck just a little bent. Tommy would usually hold a grudge, but the anger he tries to muster toward Techno sparks and dies just as fast when he sees his mentor standing like that. All he can manage is a weak nod.

He’ll have to say goodbye to Tubbo, he remembers. Fuck, he’ll have to say _goodbye_.

He looks between his guardians and tells them so, and watches as they look between themselves nervously.

Techno speaks first. “Usually, it would be ideal if nobody knew-”

“I’m not leaving without saying goodbye. I won’t.” And no, he doesn’t stamp his foot, because that would be childish, but he sure as hell stands his ground.

“-let me finish,” Techno sighs. “I think we all knew you’d want some time. It’s the only reason we’re not leaving right this second.” Techno scratches the back of his neck, and yeah, this is what an apology from Techno looks like. “You can’t stay the night, but- you have a few hours.”

“Nearly a whole day,” Phil smiles.

Tommy fights down the knee-jerk reaction to snap that its not enough, because wow, he really needs to get this rage thing under control, and swallows the dread that builds in his throat. Half a day. Fuck.

He decides to just nod, looking up to see the sun still high in the sky, though he feels like the world is turning quicker on its axis, spinning out of control. “I’m- okay. I’ll eat at Tubbo’s.”

And with that, he’s sprinting out the gate and down the path.

Tubbo is suited up again when he arrives, sweet-smelling smoke surrounding him and Eret as they both stand over the hives, the buzzing almost audible from where Tommy stands beyond the fence.

Tubbo seems to say something to Eret, incomprehensible from this distance, and the exchange lasts thirty seconds before Tubbo is holding up a finger, and Tommy is waiting in that living room, as he used to.

-

Tubbo comes in with a wheeze and several layers of fabric covering his mouth and nose, even under the netting that obscures his face. The helmet of his suit is only just under his arm when Tommy starts to speak.

“Tubbo, I,” and he has to do this, so he does, “I’m leaving. To be initiated. Before dawn.”

He sees his friend’s face fall, and open his mouth to speak.

“And! And, and, and- we’re not going to be sad about it. We’re not going to sit and moan about how unfair this all is, because it is, but we wasted all last night being all- all sad and shit, and we have one day left, apparently, and its-”

Tubbo is smiling now, wide and genuine, even as his eyes shine.

“It’s gonna be a fuckin good one,” he finishes for him, and Tommy grins.

“Let’s fuckin go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We shall have some clingy duo fluff next chapter dont you worry :"))
> 
> I AM NOT PLEASED WITH THIS CHAPTER but i thought i may as well post it now so i dont get myself into more of a rut than i already am, because i for one think the next few will be bangers  
> And yes the current tommy/techno team up is feeding me, their dynamic is GOOD SHIT and its the whole reason i wrote this fic


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off they go

The river water is clear and cold against his skin, rushing past his calves as Tommy bends down and sends a wave crashing towards Tubbo. The shorter shrieks and kicks, sending even more flying and soaking Tommy’s shirt as he loses his balance and plunges, flailing, into the water.

Tommy can hardly breathe as he doubles over laughing, Tubbo sitting up and shaking his head like a dog, water droplets flying everywhere.

“Ey, stop it!”

“Stop eeht!” Tubbo mocks, grinning as he pushes his soaked fringe from his eyes. Tommy offers one last kick of water in his direction, before leaning down to offer him a hand up.

Tubbo promptly takes it, and in a fit of evil laughter, yanks.

Tommy splutters, spitting water out and looking to his friend with mock-betrayal as Tubbo tries to catch his breath.

“What- what- ” He wheezes, wiping tears –“How did you not see that coming!” he cackles.

Tommy is beaming, entirely against his will, as he watches his friend absolutely lose his mind.

“I trusted you, you fiend! You prick!”

Tubbo lets himself crash backwards into the water again as another wave of giggles hits him, Tommy shooting an arm out to keep his head from falling underwater.

“I didn’t even bring spare clothes! I’m soaked, this is entirely your fault.”

“Yeah it is,” Tubbo agrees, far too smug as he finally sits up on his own and kicks his legs out in front of him. The water comes up to his ribs now, and he seems content to remain where he is. “You can just borrow something of Eret’s, it’ll fit.”

“It’s the principal, man!” Tommy yells, leaning back on his arms and pulling his legs up so only his knees poke out the water. “This is a betrayal that I’ll never recover from, just you watch. I’ll never be able to touch water again.”

“You’re literally sitting in a stream.”

“Well, I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Tubbo snorts, and makes a move to stand up, before pausing and looking at Tommy suspiciously.

“If I stand up right now, do you promise not to pull me back in?”

Tommy smiles and holds out a hand, pinkie extended. “I would never. That does not at all sound like something I would do.”

Tubbo’s eyes remain narrowed, though there is a smile tugging at his lips as he hooks a finger around Tommy’s before making to stand up completely.

Tommy, as a man of his word, does not pull Tubbo back in. He swipes his feet out from under him instead.

-

The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time they’re done, the water drifting by honey-coloured and calm as they watch from the bank. The trees cast mottled shadows over the ground, and Tubbo holds a hand out in front of him to catch the last rays of sun in his palm, opening and closing his fingers around the warm light.

Tommy has his back pressed against a tree, his original shirt wrung out and replaced with a jumper of Eret’s. Their soaked clothes are hung over a clothes horse in the cottage right now, and Tommy thinks they’ll be dry by the time he… leaves.

His right knee is pressed against Tubbo’s left, and he notices a graze that his friend must have gotten earlier that day, the skin white and suddenly pink where it’s been scrubbed by the stones at the bottom of the stream. He sees a bruise of his own, right where his knee becomes shin, and wonders how long it’ll take to fade.

He’s knocked out of his reverie by the sound of Tubbo’s hand dropping into his lap, the sunlight finally disappearing from their tiny spot in the forest, and Tommy turns to look at him just as Tubbo does the same. His eyes are tired and sad despite his smile, and Tommy hate hate _hates_ it.

“You said you have ‘til dawn,” Tubbo says, slumping back so he’s leaning against the tree.

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes out. “I can stay- stay until an hour or two before, if I really push it.”

“Yeah, because only good things have ever come from you pushing your luck,” Tubbo snorts, and Tommy chuffs and knocks his knee with his own.

“Good is a relative term, my good man, so technically it could be applied to all those situations.”

“Oh yeah, like that one time you dislocated your shoulder falling off Fundy’s roof-”

“It’s his stupid machine’s fault for vaulting those fucking plates- ”

“I’ll have you know I helped _make_ that stupid machine.”

“I could tell.” Tommy snorts, and Tubbo giggles even as he elbows him in the side.

They lapse into silence for a moment, and unusual as it is, neither of them is quite willing to break it. What if noise sets time moving again? What if they say something- anything, really- and it isn’t enough? Tommy tries to think of something that sounds right, something funny, something heartfelt, something like an apology, and comes up blank. Tubbo looks at his friend’s face, brows pinching together and mouth tight.

He quietly lets his head drop on his shoulder, and Tommy tenses for a moment, before resting his own on top of his hair. Tubbo watches the water fade from gold to navy as the night finally settles over them, and tries to ignore the horrible sinking feeling that settles in his stomach as the world forces him to acknowledge that time never really stops.

He opens his mouth to tell Tommy they should go.

“I’m going to miss you,” comes out instead.

Tommy remains still under his head, though his hand settles in a fist over his knee. “You too, big man.”

They do end up pushing their luck, a bit, as the moon is almost in the middle of the sky before either of them move. The silence doesn’t last- Tommy is probably physically incapable of not talking for more than ten minutes, actually- but they both take comfort in the bullying, peppered with reminiscing and plans for a future that neither of them are sure Tommy will see.

The walk home to Tubbo’s is strange, as Tommy feels like he’s walking to the gallows, but he’s desperately trying to make these last few moments count. They banter and knock each other’s shoulders the whole way there, and in the end Tommy just hooks his arm around Tubbo’s neck to make fun of his height and doesn’t let go.

His clothes, as expected, were dry enough to change back into by the time they arrived, and he smiles awkwardly as he hands Eret his outfit back.

“Thanks for these, big man.”

The elder snorts, glasses still firmly in place even though he’s at home. “No problem, Tommy.”

As Eret leaves to go to bed, Tommy assumes, Tubbo looks at Tommy with a small sad smile, and- fuck, he sniffed, he’s wiping his eyes-

“No no no, don’t cry, don’t-”

Tubbo laughs, though its choked and wet, wiping his eyes before the tears have a chance to fall. Tommy stands awkwardly, arms hovering uncertainly until Tubbo rushes forward and buries his face in his shirt.

“I’m not even crying, you dick.”

“Not _yet_. Gotta be prepared, big T.”

“I’ll save my crying for after you leave, if that’s more convenient for you.”

Tommy smiles and rests his chin on top of Tubbo’s head.

“It is, actually. You know I can’t comfort people for shit.”

“You are a terrible friend.”

“You’re the one who keeps me around anyway.”

Tubbo only holds him tighter and mumbles something that sounds like “I would if I could,” and Tommy’s heart breaks, a little.

He squeezes tighter back, though he’s firmly reminded of his strength when Tubbo wheezes and smacks his arm until he loosens his grip.

He steps back, panicked after hearing his spine pop, rushing out, “Sorry, sorry, I forgot-”

Tubbo just shakes his head and catches his breath for a moment, before straightening up and elbowing him.

“After like six years, you’d think you’d know your own strength.”

“I’m just such a big man that even I can’t keep up sometimes.” Tommy boasts, paradoxically sheepish as Tubbo opens the door and leads them both out.

“Trading off brains for brawn, I see how it is.”

“Now this is bullying, and I can’t say I’m a fan of it.”

“I would never bully you,” Tubbo defends as he leans against the gate. “Only… encourage through negative reinforcement.”

“You’re encouraging me to start stabbing shit when you use big words I don’t understand.”

They both laugh at that, and refuse to look at the gate which remains locked between them and the path towards the village.

Tommy rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, fiddling with the knot in his ascot. He hates sincerity- or rather, he’s shit at it, and the past few days seem to have been full of it. But he supposes, if its ever the right time for being a little mushy, its now.

“Tubbo, I- I’m really going to miss you, man,” he confesses with a sad laugh, half disbelieving that this is goodbye.

“Its definitely going to be boring without you around.” Tubbo agrees, smiling that sad smile and leaning against the fence. “But I’ll be- I’ll be here when you come back. Because you will come back. I’m sure of it.”

Tommy finally brings his hand down from his neck, holding the now-loosened ascot, and he refuses to look the older in the eye as he wraps the green fabric into a ball and presses it into Tubbo’s palm.

“Give this back to me when I do, yeah?” He asks, finally meeting his eyes, and both of them refuse to acknowledge a memento when they see one, instead grinning when Tubbo jabs at him.

“Holy shit, Tommy Innit has a neck.”

“Shut up, man! I’m being all sincere and shit, have some respect!”

“We don’t do it often, I’m still getting used to it,” he admits, wrapping the fabric around his wrist and tying it there, the shade only just darker than his shirt.

“You and me both, big man,” Tommy nods, casting a quick glare at the sky and seeing yeah, the moon is at its apex now, and he needs to go.

Tubbo seems to notice the same thing, and he holds his arms out expectantly. “One more for the road?”

“Clingy,” Tommy mumbles even as he goes in for the hug, holding on tightly and rocking from side to side before letting go.

Tubbo doesn’t dignify that with a response, only shoving him lightly as he unlatches the gate and pushes it open for him. “I’ll wave as you leave,” he tells him. “From the edge of town.”

“You’ll oversleep,” Tommy tells him, reluctantly stepping out the gate and shutting it behind him.

“Probably,” Tubbo admits, latching it. “But I’ll do my best.”

Tommy looks at his friend, the way he smiles up at him, the way he has his ascot is tied firmly around his wrist, the way his knuckles are white where he grips the top of the gate. He thinks everything that needs to be said already has been.

“See you later,” he says as he starts walking backwards down the path.

“See you,” Tubbo calls, and Tommy finally turns around and sprints.

-

He makes it home, panting, just as Wilbur is stepping out the temple.

“Christ, there you are, Techno was about ready to send out a fucking search party-“

Tommy nods, hands on his knees as he hunches over to catch his breath. “Yeah, Tubbo was-” he wipes his face on his sleeve, “being clingy.”

“Mhm,” Wilbur hums, ignoring the redness around his eyes and letting him catch his breath before guiding him indoors by his shoulder. “Totally, I believe you.”

Tommy scrunches his nose and mimics Wilbur as he talks, which Wilbur taps him on the back of the head for, before ushering them both into the kitchen, which is in chaos.

Techno is piling jars into a crate, sleeves rolled up and stained, while Philza is stacking and folding papers into leather files, segmented by date. The fire is filled with odd-smelling herbs and spices, meant to cleanse the air before it stagnates with nobody left to care for the temple, and the pot which boils over it smells like the salve they use on injuries, only twice as potent. The packs which they had all packed earlier that day lay piled in the corner, except for Tommy’s, which is yet to be made up. As soon as they enter the room, Wilbur immediately flies to the bench, where his box of resin and spare strings for his guitar stands, waiting to be locked and packed away.

“Tommy!” Phil puffs out, heaving a case stuffed full of financial documents off the table and pushing it into the youngest’s arms. “Put this in storage- according to these, we can be gone for up to six months and be fine,” he calls to Techno, who grunts and sets his own crate aside.

“Get packed,” Techno calls after Tommy as he makes for the storeroom, “if you forget anything we’re leaving it!”

“I know how to pack a bag, Techno!” Tommy snipes, opening the storage room and shoving the case of files in before hurrying down to his room. Because that was- a complete lie.

Before Wilbur found him, he had about a satchel worth of stuff to his name, and after he found him, he never left this fucking town. Tommy has no idea what someone is supposed to take on a trip like this- clothes? Yeah, okay, he can start with clothes. He shoves spare shirts and tunics into his satchel, rolled tight so they take as little space as possible, and looks around his room. Comb? Ehh- unnecessary. He can always borrow Wilbur’s. He shoves a washcloth and his waterskin in, just in case. He shrugs on Wilbur’s old jacket over his shirt, and pulls on the fingerless gloves Phil gave him last winter when he complained about fumbling with woolly gloves. Weapons? He bites the inside of his cheek and looks past his cupboard, to the long, thin red box which leans against the far wall.

Unopened and unused for his whole time here, the sword inside is cut diamond and made to kill. The iron he’s practiced with for years, while deadly, seems childish and toy-like in comparison to the weight of the blade he holds now, still hidden between wood and red leather. Something in the back of his mind demands that he open it, craves to see what that clear blue will look like soaked in red and fleshy pink.

He shoves it under his arm and the satchel over his shoulder, and heads upstairs.

His guardians are all outside, Techno and Phil loading the cart while Wilbur flits between them, seemingly checking off a mental list and grinning broadly every time Techno makes a pointed remark about the division of labour. Techno’s gaze seems to linger on the box hooked under his arm for just a moment, unreadable expression caught between pride and grief before he nods towards an empty section of the cart, seemingly reserved for Tommy’s belongings and a thick blanket that will presumably be used as seating.

“I just needed like, clothes and stuff, yeah?”

“If Wilbur actually remembered the whole list, we’ll have everything covered,” Techno tells him, as Phil sends him a look.

“I forgot your ridiculous lemon oil _once­,_ Techno, let it go.”

“It’s essential for good sword maintenance, Wilbur, do you want my pommel to fly off mid fight? Do you? Do you wish death upon me?”

Phil looks to Tommy with a defeated look in his eyes and tells him “This was the year after we got you. Techno holds a grudge.”

Tommy smiles, hoisting himself into the cart and settling on the blanket, getting a feel for it. It’s fairly comfortable, and he’s hoping to sleep for most of the journey.

“Why didn’t you just keep it with the rest of your sword stuff?” He asks Techno, smile widening as Techno’s eyes narrow at him.

“Traitor,” Techno says, just as Wilbur calls out “That’s what I said!”

The packing is mostly done by now, the crates tied down and the bags nestled between them so they don’t fall out, and a sheet thrown over the whole pile for good measure. There’s space enough for two people to sit in the cart proper, and two to sit and mind the horses as the front. At some point during the day, Phil had lead a second horse to the fence post where Carl is tied, affectionately dubbing it Brick when it refuses to move without proper apple-shaped motivation, and Techno is busy gearing them up now with reigns and bits between their teeth.

The sky isn’t quite pink yet, but the black of midnight is long gone by the time Tommy’s eyes start to droop on their own. He and Wilbur sit in the back, Techno’s cape thrown over both of them as Wilbur checks over a map by lamplight and Tommy leans heavily on his shoulder. Phil and Techno murmur between themselves quietly, occasionally turning around to check on Tommy, at which point he always makes a show of still being awake by sticking his tongue out at them.

The air is quiet and still, though he can’t help but hold his breath as they drive down the path, and to the very edge of town. He can’t help but keep an eye out for Tubbo, but doesn’t find it in himself to be disappointed when he sees no mop of brown hair leaning against the standing stone that marks the border, at the top of a hill that dips down into a path that reaches past the horizon. It’s early, they were up late, and he can feel himself nodding off, nevermind Tubbo-

The cart jerks, the minute movement enough to shock his eyes back open, and he looks past the fur of Techno’s cape to see a figure, silhouetted against the lightening sky, jumping and waving both arms from the hill that now lies in the middle distance.

In an instant, he shoots up to his feet, not daring to jump, but waving back with a grin so wide it hurts his face. Phil and Techno hurry to calm the horses, while Wilbur curses and holds the cape to his chest, picking up the lamp and holding it away from the flammable material with disgruntled cautiousness.

“Tubbo! It’s Tubbo, he came!”

“I can bloody see that, it’s very nice of him, now can you please sit down-”

“But it’s Tubbo!”

“Tommy,” Phil calls from the front, “you can sit and wave, come on.”

Tommy huffs and sits down again, right arm still extended the entire time as Eret comes from some point behind Tubbo, and gives his own, much more subdued, wave.

He keeps going until his shoulder aches, and he watches as Eret takes Tubbo by the wrist and starts pulling him back to the village. Wilbur has extinguished the lamp, map rolled up and stored in his bag, while he leans against the rim of the cart and pulls the cape around him. Tommy watches until the very crown of Eret’s head is past the swell of the hill before turning to Wilbur, shuffling against his side when he opens the cape for him to slip under.

“’m having a nap,” he tells him, and Wilbur makes a humming sound of acknowledgement as he drifts off.

Sleep doesn’t relax his muscles like it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIII this was originally going to be far angstier but it ended up being mostly bittersweet and im ok with that. Next chapter will be pretty intense and I'll add new tags if I think they're necessary.  
> As always, thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood god is a bastard and yes it is going to make it everyone else's problem.  
> TW: Lots of blood and distressing imagery! I know i tagged it but i think people can sometimes overlook them, but yknow. Also choking! I promise its not that sad of a chapter.

Tommy opens his eyes to red. It stings, rushing into his nose and under his tongue when he opens his mouth to scream, the crushing pressure of being deep underwater making him sick. Coppery liquid is all he can see, taste, feel- and it takes all his willpower to keep it out of his throat.

His stomach twists at the unmistakable feeling of being dragged downwards, the dull thrum in his ears turning sharp as he’s moved by the Blood God’s force, gaining velocity until he feels like he’s being thrown through time. He clenches his teeth, trying desperately to force the blood out of his mouth, but its moving so fast, and he’s run out of air, and his lungs are going to collapse, and his whole throat is spasming as it tries to inhale-

The taste is cloying and vile, and a horrible part of him demands more.

The Blood God lurches him somewhere else, and suddenly he’s standing where he was the first time he dreamed, yawning blackness below him and dripping sky above. He tries to catch his breath, coughing up red matter and wiping his eyes angrily. Then, all at once, he is dry, and the ringing in his ears cuts out.

“You- dickhead!” he croaks, wiping his mouth and straightening his spine. “What was that for? You think you’re fucking funny?”

The sky does not answer, but Tommy takes its slow seeping as an insult.

Tommy feels hatred, black and barbed, wind its way through his insides. The grotesque mass above him only stares as his hands come up to pull at his hair, breathing heavily through his nose as he tries to remind himself, he won’t win a fight with a fucking god. But something about this place splinters his common sense, and the rage and fear and grief of the past week hits him all at once, bubbling in his chest and pouring out before he can stop it.

“You’ve fucking- you took me away from my friend, you make me scared to hug my brothers, I wake up and I have to remember what its like to have skin- you bitch! _Fuck!_ ” he throws his arms back down to his sides, limbs falling into a battle stance automatically.

Amusement rumbles through him, cruel and pitying, and Tommy bites back a growl- when did he start growling, what the fuck- as he feels godly influence worm its way into his consciousness. 

He drops to his knees as pain shoots though the base of his skull, images of blood and gore and glinting blades fill his mind, his fingers twitching as he watches them dig into flesh a thousand times over, breaking, bruising, snapping. He wants to feel sick, would feel normal if he felt sick, but the real terror comes from the fact he doesn’t.

Time seems to bend, swirling and shifting as the setting shrinks, blackening and rising in temperature until he feels like he’s being crushed, bitten into, burned alive, and he’s gritting his teeth, grasping for something to hold onto, and Phil is throwing him to the floor.

“ _Tommy!_ ” he’s yelling, grip on his shoulders tight enough to bruise, while Wilbur is coughing into his fist, and Techno is frantically trying to calm the horses. “What the fuck?”

He’s still reeling, the bottom of the cart digging hard into his back while he catches his breath, and Phil has let go of him to tilt Will’s chin up, examining the hand-shaped bruises that are already forming, angry red already yellowing at the edges. He can see the indents where his nails dug in too hard.

Suddenly Techno is behind him, hauling him up by the scruff of his neck and pulling him away from the cart, walking until he and Tommy are both at the edge of the forest that surrounds each side of the path. He’s solid, limbs pulled stiff as he finally moves his arm to his side, and Tommy notices with a horrifying pang that his brother is _scared_. His eyes don’t have that familiar detached calm, instead darting around them, over Tommy, grabbing his wrists and looking over his hands, checking for something, Tommy doesn’t know what.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy hears himself say, over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Alright, Tommy, just- ” watching Techno flounder is not helping him calm down- “uh, keep breathing, keep breathing. Wilbur’s gonna be fine, Tommy, it was just for a second, Wilbur is-”

And he tries, but all he can think is that Techno is doing it wrong, he’s not breathing with him, not like Wilbur would, Wilbur who is currently hacking his lungs out in the back of the cart because he fucking choked him in his _sleep_ , he really is a monster, he’s dangerous, evil, evil, evil-

He brings his fist to his mouth and screams into it, muffling the sound as he squeezes his eyes shut against the rest of the world, so bright, so awful, so oppressive. Techno’s hands hover uselessly in the air, afraid to touch him and spook him, and Tommy can’t help but resent him for how terrible he is with emotions, and immediately feel guilty for it. He slumps heavily against the nearest tree, sliding down it to sit on the floor, not caring when the back of his jacket catches on the rough bark.

He just sits there, for a moment. Head pressed between his knees, one hand pressed firmly to his mouth, the other gripping his wrist, desperate to hold something. Techno takes a knee next to him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and leaning in close.

“I thought we’d have more time,” he murmurs like an apology, “this shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it.”

Tommy nods stiffly, hands dropping from his mouth and locking behind his neck, head still bent.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Techno says aloud, though who he’s addressing is anyone’s guess. The way he says it isn’t comforting; it almost sounds like a warning.

-

Phil comes to get them with an expression caught between blank and a grimace, which melts into concern as soon as he catches sight of Tommy, still hunched over himself. Techno looks at him helplessly, and Phil forgets the last five minutes in favour of running to his youngest.

He pries Tommy’s arms from his own neck, taking his hands and raising him to his feet slowly, until he’s standing straight enough for him to comfortably wrap his arms around him. He feels concern settle like a rock in his chest when Tommy doesn’t hug him back, hands balled into fists at his sides even as he leans half his weight on Phil, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead sending look at Techno that sends him off to check on Wilbur.

“He’s alright, mate, he’s fine, he’s fine,” he reassures him, patting the space between his shoulder blades before letting go and stepping back. “Come see him, okay? He’s fine.”

Tommy breathes and nods, scratching out a quiet “okay” as he follows Phil back to the cart, where Wilbur is taking careful sips from a waterskin, Techno sitting beside him with a hand on his back.

Wilbur smiles when he sees him, and Tommy feels ill, the marks around his neck a sickly yellow-brown that makes him feel awful.

“Hello, problem child,” he grins, the words sounding painful as they struggle from his throat.

Tommy stops just before properly reaching the cart, winding and unwinding his fingers around each other as he fidgets. He can’t even pretend to laugh at the weak joke.

“I am so sorry, Wilbur, I don’t know why I did it, I wasn’t even awake until Phil pulled me off you, I swear, I never- ” there’s a lump in his throat that makes speaking a struggle, “I never wanted to hurt you.” He feels Phil nudge him towards the cart gently, and he sits down in the tiny space between Will’s own crossed legs and the wall around the cart. Wilbur sets the waterskin down on Techno’s knee, leaning forward so he’s eye level with Tommy.

“I know, Tommy.” His eyes are sad, even as they crinkle round the edges. “I forgive you, alright? You’re forgiven. You’re fine, I’m fine.” He pushes Tommy’s fringe back from his face, fluffing his hair before pulling him across the cart into a hug, which is a bit of an awkward manoeuvre. “We’re going to figure it out.”

Tommy lets himself be held, swallowing thickly and only barely daring to wrap his arms around Wilbur. Wilbur’s hand is still in his hair, and hearing him breathing unhindered makes him feel a little bit better. With his face buried in his scarf, he doesn’t notice the way Techno and Phil send each other concerned looks as he does so.

“Alright,” Techno starts, painfully awkward around genuine emotion, “this is lovely, but we really need to keep moving.”

“Keep moving then, dickhead.” The venom of the statement is diluted by the fact it’s spoken into his big brother’s shoulder.

“You’re in the way.”

“Boys,” Phil warns from the front of the cart, calming the horses and taking the reins.

“Sorry, Phil,” they chorus, extricating themselves from each other and letting Techno lumber out the cart, though he does ruffle Tommy’s hair as he passes.

Tommy scrunches his nose and shakes his head, wrapping his jacket closer around himself as they start moving again, Wilbur’s feet propped on the ledge of the cart to his left. Despite the assurances, uneasiness clings to the back of his neck like slime for the rest of the journey.

“Left here, and keep going until you see the sign.”

“I’ve been here before, Wilbur.”

“I’m being useful, Techno, let me have this.”

“Uh huh.”

The village they arrive in is so similar, but so different to back home. The mountains that surrounded their old valley have faded to looming grey shapes on the horizon, the distance too great for the temple to be visible as even a speck halfway up.

Its… flat. Plains on plains on plains, wheat swaying in the breeze with lazy motions, almost sickeningly picturesque. It feels like an illustration in one of Techno’s old tomes, or a painting that Eret might hang over their bed, or some other bullshit. People are milling from place to place with purpose, laughter and idle chatter filling the air, along with the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer pounding in the distance. Tommy squints as they enter, and some of the locals squint right back at him, looking confused and vaguely stand-offish. He looks away before he sets anyone off, to Wilbur, who is offering vacant smiles to anyone who catches his eye, scarf pulled high on his neck to hide the mottled skin there.

“They’re staring at me,” he murmurs, hunching so that his shoulders are at his ears.

Wilbur knocks his shoulder with the side of his shoe. “They’ve never seen us three at the same time, let alone with a kid. We’re interesting; let them get it out of their system.”

“People stare, Tommy,” Techno says, turning to look at him out of the corner of his eye. With the head of a pig, Tommy supposes, he must be used to it. “Just don’t stare back and you’ll be fine.”

Tommy huffs and sinks further into the cart.

-

The inn is nice, he supposes. A childish part of his brain is buzzing at the opportunity to explore a new place, a change of scene, a different bed to sleep in- but the events of this morning still twist his gut, and he’s reluctant to leave Wilbur’s side for more than a moment. Except- falling asleep on him makes him want to be sick. Falling asleep at all feels like a gamble. And the looks that Phil and Techno keep shooting each other makes him think they feel the same way.

The meals they ordered are eaten and paid for, the barmaid carrying their plates away when Phil leans forward so his elbows rest on the table, hands clasped together under his chin.

“Alright, boys,” he starts, “Me and Will have our room down here, and Tommy and Techno, you’re upstairs. Sound good?”

Each of them make vague sounds of affirmation, and Tommy pointedly doesn’t think about how the sleeping arrangements were decided.

“Ugh,” Will complains, leaning his head back so it konks on the back of the bench they’re both on. “The downstairs room is atrocious. Remember when someone tried to break in, Techno?”

“When you left the window open, you mean?”

“I’m sure I don’t remember.”

“I do. Techno wrote home complaining about you,” Tommy smiles, basking in the normalcy of their banter, despite the changing backdrop.

Wilbur throws an arm over his shoulder dramatically, leaning more of his weight on him than is reasonable.

“Oh, Tommy, my right hand man, my partner in crime, I can’t believe you would back up _Techno_ of all people- ”

“Get _off_ , I will sneak into your room, motherfucker, I’ll sneak in with a knife, don’t test me bitch you know I’ll do it-”

“I’m deadbolting the door, I swear to god,” Philza groans, rubbing his eyes and slouching back in his chair. Techno lets out a huff of laughter when he sinks so low his chin touches his chest.

“That won’t stop me, bitch, I’m supa’ ‘ooman-”

“I could pick you up right now and throw you.”

“Yeah, try it, see what happens, it’ll just turn into an aerial attack- Phil knows what’s up.”

“Literally.”

“Oh my _god,_ please stop talking.”

-

Phil has left for bed already, and Will seems to be flagging. Techno is standing with a huff and a yawn, muffled into the sleeve of his shirt, as he pulls Tommy up by the shoulder with his free arm, out from where he had burrowed himself in Wilbur’s side.

“C’mon, Tommy, evening training.”

“What?”

Wilbur has his head propped up on the table by the heel of his hand, tired smirk on his face as he watches Techno wrangle the squawking youngest into a standing position.

“You’ve had a two day break, you’re going to get rusty.”

“For good bloody reason! It was a big two days!”

“No excuses.” Techno looks down at Will, who seems to have caught his yawn, and his face softens just a touch. “Get to bed, Will.”

“Yeah, probably should,” he sighs. Sliding out from the bench with limbs as long as his is a bit of a struggle, especially when tired, but he manages with enough grace that he doesn’t embarrass himself. He fixes Tommy’s hair and gives Techno a firm pat on the shoulder as he leaves, murmuring “Night, see you in the morning.”

Tommy accepts the affection with a sigh, petulantly re-fixing his hair as soon as Wilbur is gone, and looking up to glare at Techno after Will shuts a door behind him. The hybrid is picking up the lantern that had been in the centre of their table, eyes weary but stern as ever.

“You’re tired too, Blade, we could really just-”

“If you only fight in peak condition, you’ll never make it in a real battle. Let’s go.”

Techno’s voice has taken on the lilt it has when he’s quoting something, and Tommy lets out a long-suffering sigh as he lets himself be guided out of the inn and towards the front of the stables, where the grass is spotty and the dirt feels just slightly different to the training ground at home. He rocks back and forth on his heels as he lets himself become aware of his own weight, while Techno is removing the fur mantle from his shoulders and hanging it over the fence, while he finds a place for the lantern on a hook right outside the stables. The lighting is weak, too weak for so late at night, really, but enough for them to see the other by the faint red-orange glow.

“Can’t see shit,” Tommy complains, rolling up his sleeves and wrapping his hand.

“We’re not using swords, it’s fine.”

“Punches still _hurt_ , Techno.”

“Get better at dodging, then,” Techno retorts, and the smile in his voice makes Tommy huff.

“You’re such a prick.”

Techno holds a hand out, and Tommy shows him his wrist wraps automatically. Satisfied that they’re not going to chafe, Techno nods and steps back, dropping into a fighting stance, which Tommy mirrors with his own.

“Three, two, one…”

Tommy pounces, hoping to catch Techno off guard as he darts to his left, trying to get behind him before he can rush him. Techno doesn’t let him, turning to follow him and aiming a punch that Tommy very nearly runs right into, having to drop under it to dodge.

Techno shifts his feet so they’re planted solidly on the ground, and Tommy rules out the possibility of him rushing him. Instead, he seems to be setting himself up like a boulder, immovable and impervious, while Tommy is trying to use his speed against Techno’s bulk. All in all, Tommy thinks, hand-to-hand with Techno is not a fair fight.

Tommy exhales sharply from his nose as he goes for his middle, Techno blocking with his forearms and letting the force of his own punch ricochet up his arm and force him backwards, giving Techno the opportunity to finally rush him, putting him on his back with a _thump_.

Tommy groans loudly, lying in the dirt.

“You know, they say you improve by training with people better than you,” he says as Techno pulls him up by the hand, “but I think, when you’re training, there’s supposed to be at least a _chance_ you’ll win.”

“It’s not about winning. It’s about getting better.”

“Ugh, you’re sounding all- all motivational quote-y now.”

“It’s how I justify beating kids, yes.”

“’M not a kid.”

“Uh-huh. Next round.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS BEEN OVER A MONTH LMAO SORRY  
> this was gonna be a bit longer but then i was like. no. let it b r e a t h e. so now its shorter. Enjoy!


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